It seems like there is never enough hours in the day to sleep after calculating the number of hours needed for all the studying and living I need to do.
This is me almost every night these days:
“ She fell, she hurt, she felt. She lived. And for all the tumble of her experiences, she still had hope. Maybe this next time would do the trick. Or maybe not. But unless you stepped into the game, you would never know. ”
Sarah Dessen, This Lullaby (via thresca)
that you are unloved
but that you love
and must decide which
to remember; tracks left
in the field, a language
of going away or coming back—
and to look up
from the single mind,
to let untangle
the far-off snow
from sky
until no longer
held as proof
is also where birds
find agreement
strung along branches
each with their own song
for the other,
every note used
to sing anyway—
how to hold the already
as the not yet
~ Sophie Cabot Black
