afinefrenzy:

I’m going to go here in my dreams. G’night moon.

(Source: metrodorus, via alisonsudol)

"Young girls are told you have to be the delicate princess. Hermione taught them that you can be the warrior."

Emma Watson (via boomthatshitcray)

In Blackwater Woods →

afinefrenzy:

Look, the trees
are turning
their own bodies
into pillars

of light,
are giving off the rich
fragrance of cinnamon
and fulfillment,

the long tapers
of cattails
are bursting and floating away over
the blue shoulders

of the ponds,
and every pond,
no matter what its
name is, is

"When will we all be home again? That was what she wanted to know. But when she thought about it logically, she knew: It wasn’t just the answer that had changed, it was the question. What was home anymore? What counted as the status quo? Home was a time and it had passed."

Forever in Blue, Ann Brashares

a. finds frenzy: stones →

once more, amazing and beautiful words coming from ali sudol:

afinefrenzy:

we all have stones in our garden.

you know, the ones that sit heavy on the soil.

the kind that, when lifted, reveal a perfect cutout of their shape in the grass, and a collection of worms and beetles frantically digging in the damp ground to escape curious eyes.

we all have these stones.

…

"‘There is the character of the strong woman who doesn’t want to be a rebel. She agrees to live behind the rules,’ he [Fellowes] said. ‘In their own ways they are fighting the system that holds them down, they are finding ways around it.’"

hahahaha oh man Fellowes just schooled every Mary hater rn (via thequietworld)

(via fuckyesdowntonabbey)

View high resolution

missing home

This is so important.

let it shine: friends. →

youreawallflower:

justinerose12:

True friends are the ones to whom you feel not a single ounce of embarrassment admitting that you pooped your pants when you had the stomach flu. True friends are the people who still remember the funniest and stupidest things you said eight years ago and quote it back at you to this day. The…

They’re the sisters you had asked your parents for years ago but never got. They’re the ones who you send your work when you need it to be ripped apart. And when you’re walking home alone at night they’re the ones you call because you know that you’re safe when you’re holding their voice up to your ear. When you come home for Thanksgiving they’re the ones your mom expects you to see right after you hug her hello. You’ve got playlists upon playlists for every occasion made for each and every one of them and they get it when you say that this song sounds like driving to your house senior year because they were there and they remember the moment where the conversation stopped and you just sat there, infinite, inhaling the smell of perfection which is really just seven different perfumes all wrapped into one but somehow it’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever smelled. They don’t mind your run on sentences and if you’re about to dive into the shallow end they stop you and if you’re in over your head they rescue you. Your walls are plastered with photographs of their funny faces and their breathtaking smiles and when you look in your personal dictionary you find each and every one of them filed under the word “love.” But also “safe,” and “warm” and “joy” and “laughter.”

How lucky are we to have friends? An extension of oneself. Whether it extends statelines or across oceans. It works. It extends. Hearts are clearly more malleable than modern medicine thought. Because mine is stretched across the globe.  

Stretched so far, but not too thin. Friendship– love– is one of those things that sometimes makes your heart heart with the effort of harnessing it. It’s one of those things people always have to try to do with something that lovely, with nature or happiness. We have to try to hold it all within us, to get as close to it as we can. It’s impossible, of course; one cannot have a mountain-top any more than one can hold true love in one’s hand. Because those things are always stronger than us. Freer than us. Things like love and the sea and the sky. They expand our hearts, sometimes near to bursting, but we can’t conquer them. They are not ours to harness.

They are forces, perhaps, rather than objects. Natural things, the greatest of the Earth’s beauty. Maybe that’s why I’ve always connected love and nature in my mind. They’re things that speak to us and make us think about life and the world and ourselves. And there’s nothing better than friends to make you do just that. Friends and sisters, sisters and soulmates. My heart is stretching. Stretching to hold it. Maybe not to touch it, not to have it tangibly, but to press against it and take what it has to offer. It’s too big and too far and too wide to hold, but it’s ours just the same. And that’s why it’s beautiful. 

(via youreawallflower-blog)

friends.

True friends are the ones to whom you feel not a single ounce of embarrassment admitting that you pooped your pants when you had the stomach flu. True friends are the people who still remember the funniest and stupidest things you said eight years ago and quote it back at you to this day. The ones who know what you mean when you step outside and say the air smells like us, or high school, or perfect. The ones who let you complain as much as you want—and tell you when you need to shut up. The ones who remember it all, even the things that happened before you met. The ones whose life stories seem like your own. The ones whose heartbreak, success, failure, happiness, adventure has all been felt by you, too. The ones with whom there is no shame, except when it’s rightly due—and then they support you, and their loving presence rather than their words is what makes you feel remorse. The ones who let you go on and on about a boy you dated months ago but who don’t let you grate cheese because you don’t do it the right way. The ones who always look infinitely, impossibly beautiful, but who make you know you’re shining just as brilliantly. You all shine because of who you are, and who you are together. The ones who buoy you, and you them; together you make a collective raft that isn’t perfect but that can weather anything. The ones who were there, this Christmas and last, and the one eight years before that. The ones who are on your mind every day, whether you’re near or far. The ones who are there. They paddle on the raft when you need them to, and you take up the oars when they’re tired. It doesn’t matter where you’re going, or if you even know where you’re going, because you’ll travel together.