Post reblogged from bella/self-destructive/intuitive/prettyyoungthing with 1 note
I wonder who we are at night,
In our silence, we gaze at empty. Our twopence we keep to ourselves. We dream for a better tomorrow. We clench our teeth, scoffing at ourselves for the things not done. We look at our phones and scroll down to the captured memories. We look back at the texts our friends put together. Our smiles we let loose. Our hair we let run. Our thoughts we let it slowly slide to the very end of the tunnel.
It forms love. Inspiration. And faith.
Who are you at night?
Source: theredlips
Photo reblogged from bella/self-destructive/intuitive/prettyyoungthing with 9,916 notes
too true.
Source: etiquetteforagentleman
Sonnet 116 _ Shakespeare
Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken.
Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle’s compass come:
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.
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