That was how he felt safest. Revealing nothing. Whether they came at him with tenderness or subterfuge or knives.
The English Patient, Michael Ondaatje (via petrichour)
I find that most people worth knowing are fucked up in some way or another.
When someone loves you, the way they say your name is different. You just know that your name is safe in their mouth.
The thing I love about you (ok, it’s one thing. one stone in a rock yard of things) is that you have this dream and you don’t let it deflate and stagnate like I do. You don’t lift your skirt and step over it to the petty, self-inflated demands of the day, like I do. You don’t keep it precious and shelved and preserved, like I do. Your thing is smoothed out in front of you, constantly, like a map of the battles you intend to wage by night. And win by daybreak.
We are here, because you are fearless. Because you consider nothing impossible. Because you show up, and work and stay the course and steady the ship and keep watch on the horizon, unsleeping. And whether dry land appears or not, you prepare for it as if it lies under the next swell. Because one day, it will lie under the next swell.