This is the first all nighter I’ve done all semester.  Reminds me of the days you’d stay up with me for god-awful hours despite that you had to get up for work in the morning just because you wanted to experience the same things I did and make sure I was good and it all worked out.  I miss those long sleepy nights.  We always got really mush when it got late.  Well, that orrr you’d end up getting mad at me for dicking around when I should’ve been working.  
You’d be proud of me for how I’ve done this semester.  I’ve been working really hard because I know you’d want me to and want me to spend my time wisely.  My major is all set and tonight I signed up to take 21 hours next semester so I’m ready to buckle down like my Bubba would want me to.
I still think about you all the time.  It still hurts all the time.  I finally had to take your picture down because it hurt too much.  But I still keep little pieces of you tucked away.  I still keep you close to my heart.  Your voice is in my head always, giving me advice, encouragement, and a good scolding when needed.

My outlook on a lot of things have changed in the past couple months, but one thing hasn’t changed. I am still so very grateful for the time we had together.  You helped me grow in ways I never thought possible.  So from the bottom of my heart, thank you.  Thank you for teaching me how to love and be loved, forgive and be forgiven.  You are one very special person. You are genuine and beautiful.  Later Bubba <3<3<3

I miss you. I hope all is well in your life and that you are happy.
Have a lovely Easter.

pepper-ish:

This is cuuuute! :’) 

“Maybe love stays. Maybe love can’t. Maybe love shouldn’t. Love arrives exactly when love is supposed to. And love leaves exactly when love must. When love arrives it say, ‘Welcome. Make yourself comfortable.’ If love leaves, ask her to leave the door open behind her. Turn off the music. Listen to the quiet whisper, ‘Thank you for stopping by.”

I hope you had a good Sunday. 

Today&#8217;s fears. 

Today’s fears. 

(via hopeinspiresme)

truth-has-a-liberal-bias:

[tw: descriptions of child abuse]
thedarklawyer:

I don’t mean to dishonor the other stories here. But there is one I wanted to add.
A good portion of my pro-bono work is defending abused children. It’s a cause close to my heart.  In the course of my work I met a man who was an adult survivor. You wouldn’t have known it looking at him. He was this gigantic Polynesian guy. Wild curly hair. I think of him every time I see Khal Drogo on GoT. He was counseling some of the little kids, and doing a fantastic job of it.
I visited his home to get his opinion on something and I noticed a little toy on his desk. It was Trolley. Naturally curious, I asked him about it.
This is what he told me:
“The most dangerous time for me was in the afternoon when my mother got tired and irritable. Like clockwork. Now, she liked to beat me in discreet places so my father wouldn’t see the bruises. That particular day she went for the legs. Not uncommon for her. I was knocked down and couldn’t get back up. Also not uncommon. She gave me one last kick, the one I had come to learn meant ‘I’m done now’. Then she left me there upstairs, face in the carpet, alone. I tried to get up, but couldn’t. So I dragged myself, arm over arm, to the television, climbed up the tv cabinet and turned on the tv. 
“And there was Mr. Rogers. It was the end of the show and he was having a quiet, calm conversation with those hundreds of kids. In that moment, he seemed to look me in the eye when he said ‘And I like you just for being you’. In that moment, it was like he was reaching across time and space to say these words to me when I needed them most.
“It was like the hand of god, if you’re into that kind of thing. It hit me in the soul. I was a miserable little kid. I was sure I was a horrible person. I was sure I deserved every last moment of abuse, every blow, every bad name. I was sure I earned it, sure I didn’t deserve better. I *knew* all of these things … until that moment. If this man, who I hadn’t even met, liked me just for being me, then I couldn’t be all bad. Then maybe someone could love me, even if it wasn’t my mom.
“It gave me hope. If that nice man liked me, then I wasn’t a monster. I was worth fighting for. From that day on, his words were like a secret fortress in my heart. No matter how broken I was, no matter how much it hurt or what was done to me, I could remember his words, get back on my feet, and go on for another day.
“That’s why I keep Trolley there. To remind me that, no matter how terrible things look, someone who had never met me liked me just for being me, and that makes even the worst day worth it to me. I know how stupid it sounds, but Mr. Rogers saved my life.”
The next time I saw him, he was talking to one of my little clients. When they were done with their session, he helped her out of her chair, took both of her hands, looked her in the eyes and said: “And remember, I like you just for being you.” 
That, to me, is Mr. Rogers’ most powerful legacy. All of the little lives he changed and made better with simple and sincere words of love and kindness.

truth-has-a-liberal-bias:

[tw: descriptions of child abuse]

thedarklawyer:

I don’t mean to dishonor the other stories here. But there is one I wanted to add.

A good portion of my pro-bono work is defending abused children. It’s a cause close to my heart.  In the course of my work I met a man who was an adult survivor. You wouldn’t have known it looking at him. He was this gigantic Polynesian guy. Wild curly hair. I think of him every time I see Khal Drogo on GoT. He was counseling some of the little kids, and doing a fantastic job of it.

I visited his home to get his opinion on something and I noticed a little toy on his desk. It was Trolley. Naturally curious, I asked him about it.

This is what he told me:

“The most dangerous time for me was in the afternoon when my mother got tired and irritable. Like clockwork. Now, she liked to beat me in discreet places so my father wouldn’t see the bruises. That particular day she went for the legs. Not uncommon for her. I was knocked down and couldn’t get back up. Also not uncommon. She gave me one last kick, the one I had come to learn meant ‘I’m done now’. Then she left me there upstairs, face in the carpet, alone. I tried to get up, but couldn’t. So I dragged myself, arm over arm, to the television, climbed up the tv cabinet and turned on the tv. 

“And there was Mr. Rogers. It was the end of the show and he was having a quiet, calm conversation with those hundreds of kids. In that moment, he seemed to look me in the eye when he said ‘And I like you just for being you’. In that moment, it was like he was reaching across time and space to say these words to me when I needed them most.

“It was like the hand of god, if you’re into that kind of thing. It hit me in the soul. I was a miserable little kid. I was sure I was a horrible person. I was sure I deserved every last moment of abuse, every blow, every bad name. I was sure I earned it, sure I didn’t deserve better. I *knew* all of these things … until that moment. If this man, who I hadn’t even met, liked me just for being me, then I couldn’t be all bad. Then maybe someone could love me, even if it wasn’t my mom.

“It gave me hope. If that nice man liked me, then I wasn’t a monster. I was worth fighting for. From that day on, his words were like a secret fortress in my heart. No matter how broken I was, no matter how much it hurt or what was done to me, I could remember his words, get back on my feet, and go on for another day.

“That’s why I keep Trolley there. To remind me that, no matter how terrible things look, someone who had never met me liked me just for being me, and that makes even the worst day worth it to me. I know how stupid it sounds, but Mr. Rogers saved my life.”

The next time I saw him, he was talking to one of my little clients. When they were done with their session, he helped her out of her chair, took both of her hands, looked her in the eyes and said: “And remember, I like you just for being you.” 

That, to me, is Mr. Rogers’ most powerful legacy. All of the little lives he changed and made better with simple and sincere words of love and kindness.

(via infjconfessions)

Maybe you just have to live for the small things, like being called pretty or someone picking up the pen you dropped or laughing so hard till your stomach hurts. Maybe that’s all that really matters at the end of the day.

Tianna Kavanagh  (via hopeinspiresme)

People that like to read are always a little fucked up.

Pat Conroy, The Prince of Tides

(Source: frenchtwist, via featherumbrellas)

thegoatjustatethemoney:


Interviewer: If you are in the mood and you don’t have a boyfriend, what do you do?Adele: Uhm, I just go to sleep.Interviewer: But you have to do it!Adele: No, you don’t have to do it.Interviewer: But it’s good for you!Adele: It’s good for you but you don’t have to do it … I don’t really want to talk about masturbating on TV when there’s cameras.Interviewer: I was not talking about masturbating, I was talking about singing!Adele: Oh my god.

ADELE YOU FUCKING HERO

thegoatjustatethemoney:

Interviewer: If you are in the mood and you don’t have a boyfriend, what do you do?
Adele: Uhm, I just go to sleep.
Interviewer: But you have to do it!
Adele: No, you don’t have to do it.
Interviewer: But it’s good for you!
Adele: It’s good for you but you don’t have to do it … I don’t really want to talk about masturbating on TV when there’s cameras.
Interviewer: I was not talking about masturbating, I was talking about singing!
Adele: Oh my god.

ADELE YOU FUCKING HERO

(via forever-endeavor)

adrians:

image

(Source: adrians1)

alpha-betch:

ain’t nobody fucking with my clique

alpha-betch:

ain’t nobody fucking with my clique

(via seconddsucks)

“Our bodies are nothing more than host to a collection of brilliant things.” 

(Source: thespokenpoet)

When Jimmy got shot I&#8217;m pretty sure my heart stopped.

When Jimmy got shot I’m pretty sure my heart stopped.

(via beyoncebeytwice)

(Source: djslaughtertite, via hypolol)