nomadmanifesto:

“She answered, ‘I don’t want worship. I want understanding.’”

— Anaïs Nin, from The Diary of Anaïs Nin: Vol. 1, 1931-1934
(via luthienne)

Reblogged from: tacvbana

the-middle-eastern-feminist:

Remember Cyntoia is not the only victim! The white supremacist system has been killing women of color since the beginning. -Hawzhin

Reblogged from: bfeliz

arabwife:

Understand that even an “understanding heart” grows tired of being understanding and never understood.

Reblogged from: sugarmacaron

awildishwoman:

trustissued:

My heart will always be soft. I will never stop looking for the good and love in everything. You can’t take that away from me.

Always strutting around with my kind heart.

Reblogged from: kindnotestoself

blackpromqueen:

Reblogged from: brujitaxula

lizzyfizzyyy:

Hi.

Reblogged from: lizzyfizzyyy

tariqah:

palestinasim:

Manchester, June 21, 1865

My heart’s beloved:

I am writing you again, because I am alone and because it troubles me always to have a dialogue with you in my head, without your knowing anything about it or hearing it or being able to answer…

Momentary absence is good, for in constant presence things seem too much alike to be differentiated. Proximity dwarfs even towers, while the petty and the commonplace, at close view, grow too big. Small habits, which may physically irritate and take on emotional form, disappear when the immediate object is removed from the eye. Great passions, which through proximity assume the form of petty routine, grow and again take on their natural dimension on account of the magic of distance. So it is with my love. You have only to be snatched away from me even in a mere dream, and I know immediately that the time has only served, as do sun and rain for plants, for growth.

The moment you are absent, my love for you shows itself to be what it is, a giant, in which are crowded together all the energy of my spirit and all the character of my heart. It makes me feel like a man again, because I feel a great passion; and the multifariousness, in which study and modern education entangle us, and the scepticism which necessarily makes us find fault with all subjective and objective impressions, all of these are entirely designed to make us all small and weak and whining. But love - not love for the Feuerbach-type of man, not for the metabolism, not for the proletariat - but the love for the beloved and particularly for you, makes a man again a man…

There are many females in the world, and some among them are beautiful. But where could I find again a face, whose every feature, even every wrinkle, is a reminder of the greatest and sweetest memories of my life? Even my endless pains, my irreplaceable losses I read in your sweet countenance, and I kiss away the pain when I kiss your sweet face…

Good-bye, my sweetheart. I kiss you and the children many thousand times.

Yours,

Karl

There are many females in the world, and some among them are beautiful. But where could I find again a face, whose every feature, even every wrinkle, is a reminder of the greatest and sweetest memories of my life? Even my endless pains, my irreplaceable losses I read in your sweet countenance, and I kiss away the pain when I kiss your sweet face…

Reblogged from: xqueentana

robtherich:

Reblogged from: fuck-your-vieja

palabraspoeticas:

Reblogged from: fuck-your-vieja