“Happiness is the consequence of personal effort.”
Elizabeth Gilbert, Eat Pray Love
“No one is free, even the birds are chained to the sky.”
Bob Dylan (via backtothegypsyy)

(Source: have--not)

An evening thought

Why do we expect so much from one another? In the end, the little things we wanted will feel so insignificant, and we will only see the things we got that made us happy.

“Happiness is measured in moments, some lasting a little longer than others, where very little matters, where you accept life as it is, and where everything beats harmoniously to the sound of your heart.”

Aroma of a Smile


Spring smells

like peace.

◊

Mornings it

smells like my

old street in Kiev,

of flowers that don’t

grow in Brooklyn.

Evenings,

Spring smells

of sweat

of tired jazz

musicians,

who play to crickets

and sleeping grass blades.

Nights,

Spring smells

like the soul

of an unborn child,

cold and confused,

and still -

sure that something

warm is approaching.

Dawn,

Spring smells

of the freshest drop

of mountain air,

cascading down into

my mouth,

and I breathe it all in

until it is afternoon,

and Spring smells

of a duckling

splashing in a pond

of apple blossoms.


- April 11, 2007

  • May 04, 2012, 2:16pm

          1 note

Love is a verb

Love is an experience - it is not a feeling. The romantic things we do, the tenderness we share, the care for another person that grows in our heart - this is love. It develops through actions, through experiences. You do not feel love. You feel attachment, affection, attraction, fondness. Love is what you do with all of it. Love is the experience of your feelings but not the feelings themselves. We create love, through our shared experiences and through our actions. Each time we embrace our significant other, each time we do something special for them, each time we stare into their eyes with adoration, we love. To love is to engage in the experience of loving - love is not an emotion, it is an event.



XVII (I do not love you…)

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way

than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.

~Pablo Neruda
“We are afraid to fall in love with people until we feel like they are perfect, when in reality, it’s the love that should be perfect, not the person.”