Somedays were for keeping it all together. Trying not to breakdown in the middle of the road. Smiling when everything was sinking inside. There was no hand to touch, there was little proof that everything was still alive. Little pledge that the end will be beautiful. But is it equal to feeling worthy of love? Is it equal to thinking there is space for acceptance? There was this fear that somebody could take one look and confirm the doubt that’s been buried for a long time. It will all make sense then, some people were put on this earth for no grand reason. They barely survive before they think it’s too much, that not being here wouldn’t make a difference. There’s no poetry on the tombstone, and that tells everyone pretty much everything about a person.
- Wardha Rasheed
Anonymous asked:
Please can you publish trustworthy links for donating to Syria so it helps reach the less supported people?
Molham, to those who don’t know, are specifically a non profit, non government team that have been providing relief for displaced & refugee Syrians. They’re now helping out with the Earth Quake.
Currently searching for survivors and pull ing the dead from collapsed buildings
3.Islamic Relief (this link should work for all countries donating)
Has for a very long time been extremely reliable. I usually donate through them and they tend to help out people all cross the world. They currently have a team in Syria, last I’ve heard.
here’s a link if you’re donating specifically in Canada, UK, America,
please PLEASE donate.
Even one dollar, one pound, can go a long way.
And if you can’t, PLEASE reblog!!
Syria needs help too! Syria matters too! They’re not receiving aid for a variety of political reasons and they desperately need it!!!
The thing is, when I was young, when I was 15 16 17 18 I was so hungry for love. I had convinced myself that if I held on to people longer, harder, they’d eventually stay, even the people who had long established that they don’t want to have anything to do with me, people who hated my skin, or my teeth or my hands. When I became an adult I thought it will go away. That’d I’d be cool about my solitude, that I’d know how to pass my loneliness, but the truth was, I couldn’t find anything to fill the hunger with. I never figured how my skin would absorb the loneliness that crept in. I never knew how to circumvent against moments or people. Sometimes they’d come and I would think, “this time they’ll stay” until I realize they’re all vacationing on my breasts, they’ve got nothing on their bones, they’re gonna empty me of my blood even.
Loneliness is a very weird thing. Sometimes a little selfish too. When you spend so much of your time giving it kind of leads to hope, that one day, someone is going to give you back. So when you sit down with a friend you haven’t seen in a while, you expect them to ask about you, instead they start talking about this one incident that happened in his life, and halfway through you think to yourself, it’s not even that important and you sort of feel yourself distancing - not listening, it easily becomes a background noise, hopefully you nod your head or shake your head at perfect moments but you’re just sitting there thinking, this company makes me feel very lonely, I’d rather be alone. And before you know it you’re wishing if you had never accepted the offer to see this person - to be here in this moment, and you start to wish If something would come up and they’ll say oh I have to go now, I just remembered, I’ve got deadlines to meet or something. The thing about loneliness is that when you’ve felt it for a really long time, it easily becomes a company you can keep for a long time. Sometimes you feel less lonely in your loneliness.
In October I always find myself missing you, sometimes I think April had nothing to do with how I felt about you, I don’t know about seasons - I’m always in the middle. I think maybe it’s a transaction, how I always find myself dreaming that you’d be with me from fall to spring at least once. Maybe there was no nights for doubts but I always think, I don’t ever want to feel cold in December. Sun is there for you as much as you let it but somehow I always choose the moon, and maybe, just maybe, I will never stop loving you, I’ll rise from the dead because your memories would never let me make peace with death even.
He tells me that couple of nights ago when he was at work, she called him and said “there’s a cat in the parking lot” and he knows how she’s scared of cats. So he drops everything at work and drives all the way to the parking lot of the post office on the other end even when it was pouring. He tells me by the time he got there she had already left, and she told him that “the cat had moved and it started to rain” and so he drives back to work, and I ask him, “weren’t you cold?” Because I know he gets cold really easily and he says “I was, I was. I was shivering. I had to go home because I couldn’t concentrate on work anymore.”
