Worst part about bringing Indian food to work is everyone asking who made it and what that smell is
My memory loves you; it asks about you all the time.
— Jonathan Carroll (via mujibb)
(Source: larmoyante, via queenbrahmz)
There’s no shame in admitting love, and to surrender to its infinite limitless possibilities, is nothing to be afraid of. Something I have to remind myself everyday, in prostration, when I submit my scars to the sky; a religion that sprung from the years I left behind to reach the here—a history of fucking around, to realize there’s no better salutation than silent gratitude.
Love those intimate moments you have with yourself, sentimental thoughts met with the warm breeze of a big city; the smell of freshly cut grass and cigarette smoke—loud noises in the distance.
