Here's The Thing. I Don't Think That Men And Women Can't Be Friends. I Do Think, However, That Some Men

i need 40yo me come from the future right fucking now and say don't worry wait a little longer it's gonna be okay you'll find your place

1 Lord of all hopefulness, Lord of all joy,

whose trust, ever childlike, no cares could destroy:

Be there at our waking, and give us, we pray,

your bliss in our hearts, Lord, at the break of the day.

2 Lord of all eagerness, Lord of all faith,

whose strong hands were skilled at the plane and the lathe:

Be there at our labors, and give us, we pray,

your strength in our hearts, Lord, at the noon of the day.

3 Lord of all kindliness, Lord of all grace,

your hands swift to welcome, your arms to embrace:

Be there at our homing, and give us, we pray,

your love in our hearts, Lord, at the eve of the day.

4 Lord of all gentleness, Lord of all calm,

whose voice is contentment, whose presence is balm:

Be there at our sleeping, and give us, we pray,

your peace in our hearts, Lord, at the end of the day.

- Jan Struther (1931)

i hate fatigueee its so stupid. ohh when im home i'll do this or that Nope. replacing all of your bones with pure titanium now. Goodbye

Der Gott der Stadt

Auf einem Häuserblocke sitzt er breit. Die Winde lagern schwarz um seine Stirn. Er schaut voll Wut, wo fern in Einsamkeit Die letzten Häuser in das Land verirrn.

Vom Abend glänzt der rote Bauch dem Baal, Die großen Städte knieen um ihn her. Der Kirchenglocken ungeheure Zahl Wogt auf zu ihm aus schwarzer Türme Meer.

Wie Korybanten-Tanz dröhnt die Musik Der Millionen durch die Straßen laut. Der Schlote Rauch, die Wolken der Fabrik Ziehn auf zu ihm, wie Duft von Weihrauch blaut.

Das Wetter schwält in seinen Augenbrauen. Der dunkle Abend wird in Nacht betäubt. Die Stürme flattern, die wie Geier schauen Von seinem Haupthaar, das im Zorne sträubt.

Er streckt ins Dunkel seine Fleischerfaust. Er schüttelt sie. Ein Meer von Feuer jagt Durch eine Straße. Und der Glutqualm braust Und frißt sie auf, bis spät der Morgen tagt.

Georg Heym

theres something about being disabled and needing to sit down constantly in public spaces that makes you notice how often benches are put up as tributes and memorials. and before i hit an age where i really started to need them as frequently i think i never fully understood the sentiment but now its become very endearing to me. a bit of relief and care for you in the name of someone who offered us the same… i dont think i had a point with this post but i hope everyone thats been memorialized as such knows how loved they were to become synonymous with respite even to total strangers

where's that picture that ruined my life

fireflies honestly make me cry a little. out of gratitude and wonder. thank goodness we live in a world with bioluminescence. thank goodness we live in a world where it can fly.

Regen

Lauer Regen, Sommerregen Rauscht von Büschen, rauscht von Bäumen. O wie gut und voller Segen, Einmal wieder satt zu träumen! War so lang im Hellen draussen, Ungewohnt ist mir dies Wogen: In der eignen Seele hausen, Nirgends fremdwärts hingezogen. Nichts begehr ich, nichts verlang ich, Summe leise Kindertöne, Und verwundert heim gelang ich In der Träume warme Schöne. Herz, wie bist du wund gerissen Und wie selig, blind zu wühlen, Nichts zu denken, nichts zu wissen, Nur zu atmen und zu fühlen!

– Hermann Hesse