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Every Day Kind Of Love

I want a Monday kind of love.

The kind that you both roll over and pull yourselves out of bed for work, tired and groggy, but sit at the table to drink your morning coffee together. Partially dreading the five long days ahead of you, but also excited for a fresh start and the chance to get so much accomplished. You say your goodbyes as you run out the door and head in opposite directions. Losing each other in your rearview mirrors, but knowing you will see each other again soon.
I want a Tuesday kind of love.
The kind love that is directionless. You still don’t know where the week will take you, but you’re still going forward. A Tuesday kind of love is reality. It’s not rolling out of bed on a Monday morning, still groggy from the weekend. It’s paying the bills, running errands and ordering take out. It’s conversation about what your boss did and what’s expected of you this week. It’s looking at each other saying, “we can do this.”
I want a Wednesday kind of love.
The kind that feels like we’ve almost made it, but that we’re in a rut. It’s the kind of day that tests you, the day that shows your strengths and weaknesses. It’s the excitement of closing in on the end of the week, with the history of Monday and Tuesday behind us. It’s the kind of love where you dance around the kitchen making dinner together and sing along to your favorite songs.
I want a Thursday kind of love.
Thursday is a date night kind of night. The week is almost behind you and the weekend is nearly here. A Thursday love is comfortable; you’ve made it through the rough stuff already. A Thursday love is a deeper kind of love. It tells you’re almost there, just one more day, then you have freedom. A Thursday kind of love ties up loose ends, while leading you straight to new beginnings.
I want a Friday kind of love.
The love that is fun, the love you yearn for. A Friday kind of love is the feeling of having endless possibilities and opportunities. You never know what the weekend could bring, but you’re always filled with hope for the best. A Friday kind of love that your morning coffee will be matched with happy hour beers. Filled with co-workers and friends. The kind of day where anything could happen, but either way you are happy and you are thankful.
I want a Saturday kind of love.
A love that is busy or while relaxed. You can make the day whatever you choose. You can sit on your porch and drink your morning coffee before going on a walk through the neighborhood or heading to morning yoga. A Saturday kind of love is all that it’s cracked up to be. You have the freedom to go to a wine festival or go to a friend’s house to watch the big game. A Saturday love is whatever you make it out to be, but it’s always together.
I want a Sunday kind of love, the best kind of love.
The kind of love you roll over in the morning and have nothing scheduled all day. You can lie in bed until noon or wake up and cuddle on the couch watching endless episodes of Netflix. A Sunday kind of love feels effortless; it’s not the Tuesday kind of love where reality hits you. A Sunday love feels like home. Waking up tangled in sheets together, looking into each other’s eyes. Laughing about what Saturday night might have brought. A Sunday love feels invincible, even though you know Monday is right around the corner. A Sunday love is beautiful, just like every other day of the week.

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Posted by on September 6, 2017 in random thoughts

 

Loose the light of negativity

I see your light! I see your soul! Let it shine
Release the dark clouds of negativity. Let go of your old perceptions weighing you down. Say goodbye to the energy vampires feeding off your soul. .
YOU are LOVE, Feel it, Know it, See it,Be it,Share it.
This journey through life has ups and downs, easy and difficult times, peace and chaos, joy and sorrow, etc., so I am not suggesting a life can be lived solely on the positive side. However, I am here to tell you with certainty that a life can be lived in peace. .
When one is not at peace, the tidal waves of life can swallow us whole, dragging us undertow, pulling us farther and farther from the shore of life. .
Yet, a peaceful life tames the current, keeps the waves at a soft lapping, and allows you to float across life’s experiences with a smile on your face, and love in your heart.

.

A very big life lesson that I have personally learned is how detrimental “resistance” of any kind is, and can be, on a person’s energetic balance and peaceful state. Its important to learn to make positive changes where possible, and either accept or let go of what is out of your control. .
The same in meditation. Positively guide, accept and let go… Do not resist. Quiet your mind/thoughts. Soon you will enter the peaceful place where your soul resides.  Be Peace be with you.

 
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Posted by on September 4, 2017 in random thoughts

 

From A Stranger Lover

I fell for a man with emotions. He wasn’t guarded, wasn’t afraid to cry, and never hesitated to show me that he loved me. every. single. day.

We would go places and he would hold my hand. When we waited in line at the movie theatre, he’d kiss my forehead just because. At a restaurant, he’d sit on my side of the booth and share his fries, or occasionally tickle me, or just nuzzle up to me and put his arm over my shoulders. When I was tired, or frustrated, or scared, or angry, he would talk to me, listen to me, console me with what was on his mind and in his heart.

He was affectionate in all the right ways. He made me feel special, made me feel treasured, made me feel loved, no matter where we were, or what time of day, or who was around.

He wasn’t soft, wasn’t weak, wasn’t ‘feminine’ or ‘unmanly’ or ‘too much’. He was the man who embraced who he was and wasn’t afraid to just be. He loved to love. He loved life. He loved me. And he didn’t change any of that based on what the world thought of him.

But unfortunately, the world looks down on emotional men, on men with feelings, on men who express these feelings openly. The world is biased towards guys that cry, that overthink, that feel. It becomes taboo if you are a dude who does these supposed ‘girly’ things. You are considered weak for being so sensitive.

But the world is wrong.

A man who is emotional, is a man who is bold. He’s unafraid. He’s confident in who he is, even if he isn’t the stereotype. And he has no problem fighting that bullsh*t stereotype.

An emotional man is a man who is secure in himself. He loves loving others, and he loves others the only way he knows how: wholeheartedly and openly.

He doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t change, doesn’t hold back. And this makes him an incredible man.

The world loves emotional women  women who feel and are open talking about those feelings. But it’s not the same to be an emotional man. Those men are looked down upon, and they shouldn’t be. They should be praised.

Because an emotional man knows how to love. He is in-tune with his heart, confident, open, and strong. He is worthy of admiration.

He is worthy of falling for, fully and fearlessly.

 

 
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Posted by on August 29, 2017 in random thoughts

 

No Matter What The Future Hold I Know I want To Spend It With You 

My love for you is not something that I can even begin to accurately describe. Trust me, I have tried. Tried to put words to the madness. To the complexity of emotions that overwhelm me at the very thought of you. “I love you” is typically all that I can come up with, because it makes a long story short. It sums up the things that I am incapable of summing up.

I cannot even pinpoint the exact moment it happened. The moment I knew you were the person I wanted to grow old with. It was slow, gradual, and then all at once, it just happened. I woke up one morning and I couldn’t imagine my life without you in it. My life stopped being my own. I started thinking in matters of “us” and “ours”. We were a collective thing, you and me.

My soul literally felt connected to yours. Our bodies and lives intertwined in a messy chaos. I was a part of you, and you were a part of me. And to my surprise, this feeling continued to get stronger. My love for you seemed to have no limits, no boundaries. It grew and deepened and consumed me. Every inch of my body ached for you. Every thought in my mind pertained to you. And no matter how big my love got, no matter how many times I thought I couldn’t possibly love you any more than I do in this very moment, I was continued to be proven wrong.

For some reason, I am pretty terrible at expressing these feelings. I struggle to make you know, really know, how I feel about you. And it breaks my heart. I wish you could see you the way that I see you. I wish you could feel the way that you make my heart soar with a simple look. I wish you could comprehend the infinite times a day I think of you and smile.

It is difficult for me to express, because it is not something I have ever felt before. It is not something I have ever let myself feel before. But with you, no amount of defense mechanisms could keep you away. You tore down my walls like they were nothing and showed me what it meant to live. Really live.

We have our differences. You are very much a free-spirit, somebody who seeks adventure and refuses to make plans. You can make friends any where you go, with everybody that you meet. I am just a shy girl from Kansas who thrives on routine and freaks out when I am not in control. But this is what I love about us. That we compliment one other. That we make each other whole. That we challenge ourselves to grow and change and go outside our comfort zones. You are the ying to my yang.

I may not have all the answers, and I most certainly am going to make mistakes. But if there is one thing that I can promise you, without any doubt in my mind, is that I have every intention of spending every single day loving you. And learning to do it better and more completely and in the ways that you need me to. Because you are the man I hope to spend forever with. My red string. The love of my life.

 
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Posted by on August 25, 2017 in random thoughts

 

Long Distance Relationship

How many of you have been in a relationship where the only big issue was distance? 

The long distance and all that?

Some say its beautiful.

You miss each other, but there’s nothing you can do about it, but to wait. If she is upset, you can’t be there for her, all you want to do is hug her tight and tell her that it’s all going to be fine, but you can’t. Yet you be there as much as you can. You try to make her feel your presence even when you are very prominently absent.

What about when you are upset? she does the same. Though you wish so bad she was there, in person, to be your pillow, you try to be strong.

There are times when you think she is fading away, like when she is busy or you are, and you try so hard to hold on tight to that invisible feeling you feel so strong, try so hard to hold onto her. But eventually, all the insecurities fade away as she reminds you, over and over again, how much she loves you. You wonder how someone could love you so much inspite of all your flaws. You wonder how is it that fairy tales come true. You wonder how she can be so perfect. Then you realise something, That’s how love works. You are just as perfect for him as he is for you.

And after all those months or years, when you finally meet, its an eclipse. Its wonderful. Its beautiful in its true sense. Its indescribable and the world stares at your union. 

That’s what happens when the sun meets the moon, the whole world stares at them in awe.
If you guys could stop and like and comment .Hit  the link 

I have been nominated for Indian Blogger Awards 2017 

https://www.indiblogger.in/iba/2017/entry/90693

 
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Posted by on August 25, 2017 in random thoughts

 

Vision – A Ray of Hope

‘I want to see you’, he said.

She started with her hair. Pulling out the band with fingers that shook slightly at the thought of what she was on the verge of doing. She pulled out the thin band of elastic and wrapped it around her right wrist, the yellow lines stark against her wheatish skin. The bones on her wrist poked through the double bind, highlighting the fragile structure of her arms. The fragility was quite at odds with her hands. They were, calloused hands, with no softness cushioning the lines that seemed etched into her palms with a harshness that belied her delicate fingers. Chipped nails,  put black nail paint that told stories of nervous tics and shaking hands.

Her hands shook even then, as they travelled down her sides, tracing her slight curves and counting the freckles only she knew the positions of. She traced them mentally, drawing constellations onto her skin,  backstories that made her realize just how disinteresting she was. She had to create her universes to live through because hers wasn’t vast enough for all the living she had to do. The list of names in her head slowly faded as the music took over, the deep bass and overwhelming synth gave her a rhythm to sway to, one to get lost into. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and continued. Her fingers found the edge of her slightly frayed top. It rose slightly every time she put her hands up in the air, and she never really stopped doing that, smiling as she felt a lash of cool air that felt like a taboo against innocuous skin.

But this time, as she raised her hands, the hem of her top was grasped in them. She tugged softly, feeling the gooseflesh trail the fabric as it rose higher, till it reached her face. For a moment, she panicked. She couldn’t see the face in front of her. She couldn’t see reaction. Suddenly, there was no meaning to this entire exercise. She pulled harder, stumbling slightly, till the soft, worn fabric was discarded onto the ground and she struggled against instinct. It took physical effort not to wrap her hands around her middle, but she dug her nails into her palms, leaving crescent imprints behind. She shook harder as she took another deep breath to calm herself down, her smile faltering under the pair of eyes on her.

She traced her sides again, the soft, pallid skin a marked contrast to the dry, warm fabric that covered it earlier. She didn’t have goose bumps anymore, but she still felt uncomfortable in her own skin. Her fingers found their way to the clasp of her bra, and she winced slightly as she felt one of the hooks dig into her thumb. Fumbling, she somehow managed to untangle the metal and cloth, and let it slide down her arms. The cheap lace and satin felt abrasive against her skin, used as it was to soft cottons. She cringed as she saw the virulent pink, darker under the dim lighting, but still much too loud for her. Her shoulders instinctively hunched inwards, and she struggled against herself to straighten them and stand there, apparently uncaring of the fact that she felt more exposed then she had in years. Being undressed by someone was one thing. Undressing herself, exposing herself- if only to one person, left her feeling like she was deconstructing herself.

And, she was, in a way, she realized, as she slid her fingers across the place where the waistband of her skirt met her skin. She was uncovering herself in slow, incremental steps, letting the process stretch out to make it intense, both for herself, and for him. It felt deeply personal, on a level, but she felt completely detached. She wasn’t there. She was just acting out the steps she knew would work.

Nothing more, nothing less.

Her reverie was broken by his ragged breathing. She shook her head slightly and pushed the skirt off, hooking her thumbs through the sides of her flimsy, delicate thong. The soft, billowy chiffon whispered its way down her legs, and pooled around her feet. Her feet, like her palms, were incongruent to the rest of her. Large, broad feet with blunt toes.

Her clubfoot was visible, the lack of a gentle arch had always seemed very telling to her. It always felt like a microcosm of her very being. It functioned well enough for what it was meant to do, but it wasn’t right. It always left a dull ache behind. It wasn’t whole. After a day of running around, and getting all her work done, her feet hurt her. A hurt only she could feel, dulling throbbing moving up from the ball of her foot, up her calves. Being her felt like that, too. A certain emptiness that was replaced with a constant throb of simply existing. Her thoughts always segued into tangents she couldn’t quite complete. It left her unsettled, the very prospect of incomplete thoughts. Sometimes, they were the only things whole about her. She realized she was looking down at her feet again. Another deep breath, and she looked up, realizing she was finally nude.

She stared him in the eye, and started unspooling the constellations she had weaved onto herself. The freckles were woven together with names, and each name had a story. She unfolded each one carefully, and shook off the film of memories that coated them. She took her segueing thoughts, and sluiced them off herself, and they settled on the ground, discarded, next to her skirt. All the dreams that she collected like dark souvenirs rolled off her arms and onto her thighs, and she let all her desires unravel. Every one of her deepest secrets spilled out of her eyes, mouth, nose, ears. They spilled out of her very pores, and she seemed to shrink further as she lost all that weighed her down.

Over time, what she hid had started defining her. She grew accustomed to sheltering herself under the shadows that the awnings of her tiny deceits cast. She convinced herself that she was trying to simple protect the people she loved, and that was the first lie she told herself. It built a base for the twisted, monstrous structure that her life had turned into.

An unhealthy fixation that sapped all the energy she had, trying to sustain it.

She knew it was a dead weight tied to her, dragging her deeper into herself, but she preferred to think of it as an anchor. It kept her grounded, she told herself, as she sank deeper. And suddenly, she let go. Let the structure break. She became visibly smaller, with nowhere to employ the effort she put into maintaining facades.

Feeling emptier than she had in a long, long time, she bent down to the ground where her skirt lay, surrounded by her swirling thoughts. What she was going to do next was possibly the most painful step, but the easiest, for her. She had already let go of all that could possibly be an inhibition for her, and she wanted to get the final step over with. Her hair surrounded her face like a curtain, framing her so that she could look up, but he didn’t realize she could.

She spent longer than necessary rummaging through the skirt’s pocket, simply observing him. She could see the difference in the way he looked at her when she started, and the way he stared now. The simpleminded adoration has changed into something darker that clouded his eyes.

It was fascination.

There was no gentle love or care in his eyes anymore.

Just an animalistic spark.

He wanted more.

He has seen into her, probably more than she meant to show, and of course he wanted more.

She knew the allure of the galaxies that swirled in her, and she knew how addictive the darkness they inhabited could be.

She sighed again, and got up, a small blade glinting in her hands.

She would give him everything.

The sharp scalpel shone under the dim lights, and she gritted her teeth as she started tracing from the tip of her left hand’s middle finger, down her inner up, up to her upper arm, and to her shoulder. The blood seeped out, and she almost lost her grip on the blade because of the slickness on her hand, but she continued. The blade cut deep for something so delicate, and pretty looking, and she smiled to herself. It was funny how she could compare everything to herself. The blood kept flowing out of her, and she continued tracing herself, creating a single, bloody outline onto herself. It crossed her scalp, down the middle of her chest, on her stomach, down one thigh. Then, she changed the hand which held the blade, and traced the right side of her body. When she was done, a fine, geometric pattern on her skin shone wetly, the colour somewhere between rust and crimson.

She gasped at the pain, and he did too, because he saw more than what he wanted to see. She stared at him, and he couldn’t tear his gaze away. She waited till she was sure he couldn’t look away, and started pealing the skin off. Piece, by piece, she pulled it off, the pain overwhelming her into a quiet frenzy. She knew that if she started screaming now, she’d never stop, so she continued, breathing harshly, peeling away faster, still she stood there, her muscles glistening because of the blood and mucus on them. She just stood there for a minute, before letting out a low, throaty wail. She howled for what seemed almost too long, but not long enough. Sobbing, she started tearing her muscles off, little chunks of meat embedding themselves under her nails.

Her fingers kept digging. Probing. She couldn’t stop pulling out large, irregular chunks of herself and flinging them to the ground. He sat there, stunned, his face sprayed with little droplets of her blood that flew out from her broken veins and arteries as she moved. He could see her heart struggling to beat under her ribcage, the immense stress and pressure she was putting on her body visible through how it strained against it’s trappings. Beating so fast, almost as though it wanted to escape. He stared at her in morbid fascination. He wanted to turn away, but he didn’t. He couldn’t. She continued, now pulling at her organs. The kidneys came first, hitting the ground with a soft, splattering sound. Then her liver. Her stomach. Her heart. Her brain. She kept going, till all that was left to her were bones. A final deep breath, as she realized she was finally bare, finally free.

She looked at him through the debris-covered skull that was left of her sallow, worn face. She had finally let go, finally allowed someone in. she let go of all that held her down, all that tried to make her whole. She let go, and she reveled in the emptiness. She savored the air that wafted through her ribs, the absence of a beating heart and pumping lungs leaving her whole self oddly quiet.

She looked at him carefully and saw him barely breathing, barely moving.

He wanted to run.

But he couldn’t.

Because, he had to stay.

He wanted to.

‘Can you see me now?’, she asked

 
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Posted by on August 24, 2017 in random thoughts

 

This Is How We Allow Ourselves To Heal

 

we carry collected pain from so many moments. like the time during high school when you were first made fun of or when you didn’t get a high enough score to be placed in advanced classes. maybe you lost yourself in the transition to adulthood, parenthood, or somewhere else along the way. or perhaps you are experiencing pain from the present moment as life is unfolding in a way that is different from what you had planned.

we all have these moments. some we continue to know because the wounds remain scabbed, fresh, and open; others are faint scars that have healed over the years.

and i believe that like the outside of our bodies that serve as life maps covered with scars from a fishing trip, the first fall on a bike, or stretch-marks after a growth spurt or having your first child; the inside of our bodies carry memories of the experiences we have endured and the emotions we have attached to these moments.

we hold on to the words that hurt us and the disappointments we experienced when the outcome didn’t match our expectations. some people might carry pain, discomfort, insecurities and challenging emotions that come from enduring significant trauma in their life. others might carry the heaviness that accompanies feelings of inadequacy, low self-esteem, loneliness, or a lost sense of purpose.

perhaps you are familiar with the sting of shame that presents itself in a wave of heat that takes over your body or knots in your stomach from feeling unworthy or never enough. and we all carry the pain from the heartache of lost love- whether that loss be from an imagined life dream, intimate relationship, friendship, goal, pet, or family member. our bodies store the emotions we experience and our minds collect all of the words that we consciously or unconsciously think. the sum of all of these experiences equate into who we are in this moment.

and sometimes the present moment is messy. sometimes we have mascara running down our face or we push back tears of frustration that we’ve been fighting with for far too long. and while the present moment can feel like too much to endure, endless, or unbearable, we often feel forced to pull it all together with a smile on our face because showing up honestly and openly feels too revealing and uncomfortable.

so we show up in altered versions of ourselves and we act in ways that we do not fully understand

perhaps through increased alcohol consumption, restrictive eating habits, self-harming behaviors, or spending time with people who only pull you farther from your goals. we cover up insecurities through mistaken gestures of love or lose ourselves in misguided attempts to find happiness through busyness, people pleasing, productivity, or materialism. we search for reassurance, validation, and self-worth through other people’s approval, the numbers on a scale, or they way our clothes fit us. and still, something remains missing.

whether it be in large or small ways, these little bits of darkness that accumulate along the way begin to cloud our hearts and chip away at our self-worth, self-love, and inner light.

but the truth is, the world needs your brightness.

you need your brightness.

i know this because i know what it feels like when we go dim. our insides start to feel like a deserted, musty old attic room that aches for a little sunlight and fresh air. you start closing doors and boxing yourself in. you begin to feel like you’re living in a way that’s smaller than you actually are. maybe you’ve heard the little whisper in your heart or ringing softly in your ears reminding you that you are so much more than the present moment. that your life, your deepest radiance, is one of greatness and eternal love.

and if any of this holds true for you, you haven’t lost who you are, you’re just finding your way.

there is a deep calling to self-love within each of us, if only we would get quiet enough to listen, patient enough to try, and enduring enough to persevere.

self-love is a fluid process that ebb and flows and because it is ever changing, it’s something we must work on daily. if you aren’t familiar with the shift from inner criticism to celebrating your worth, there are many ways to start:

1. you can start by honoring who and where you are.
 begin to learn about the messages you tell yourself and gently consider where it is you find your worth- perhaps it comes from the attention you receive from the people around you, in your productivity, accomplishments, or ability to please others. get curious about your sadness, internal pressures, or constant worrying and perfectionism. maybe it is about making a decision to stop allowing your past to dictate your future while still honoring where it is you come from. you can start by allowing yourself to be exactly who you are in this moment without calling for a need to change or be anything different than you are. and begin to know that who you are is enough and that you have everything within you to become everything you aspire to be.

  1. you get curious about who you are and who you pretend to be in order to meet other people’s expectations.you start observing the comparisons you make or the put-downs you mutter about yourself or others. you watch your unkind judgments and assumptions of strangers and recognize that your perception of others is often a reflection of yourself and the way you are feeling. and during this process, you give yourself permission to gently exit people from your life and make peace with the fact that some relationships and people are not meant for you. you recognize that perhaps inner growth will take place in the letting go, the moving on. it means you lean into the guilt you experience when saying no to others so that you can start to say yes to yourself.
  2. you improve yourself through kindness.kindness towards your body and love to your soul. self-love is a practice that includes the way you view yourself when you look into the mirror, the way you talk to yourself in the secrecy of your mind, and the way you nourish yourself throughout your days. the movement towards self love is showing yourself the same compassion, understanding, and kindness that you would treat your dearest friend. its a process of forgiving flaws and owning up to mistakes. so maybe you are kind to yourself by taking a nap in the middle of a sunday afternoon when the sun is shining into your window just right even though you have a million other things that need to be done. or for you, it might be about increasing your awareness of the background noise of anxiety that attempts to drown out your sense of enjoyment and play. it’s recognizing that you are worthy and deserving of the happiness that comes your way and not allowing your mind to rob you of the joy, gratitude, and contentment of the present moment out of fear of future what-if’s, anxieties, and catastrophes.
  3. you practice things that bring you joy, calmness, and energy.you start listening to the quiet inner voice that knows your heart and the sweetness that you need. maybe you need a day full of pajamas and blankets or an afternoon of laughter with friends. you begin prioritizing your well-being and understand that you’re most capable of offering the purest love to others when you develop that same love for yourself. i journal. drink tea. read. exercise. i practice yoga and meditate, and sometimes i eat five chewy chocolate chip cookies in a row. i honor my need for personal time and get curious about times when i feel anxious, incompetent, or upset. i share my insecurities and ease in to vulnerability. and when you practice self-love you become selective of the way you spend and give of your time. you stop collecting other people’s negativity and make a decision to be soft and patient with yourself.
  4. you allow yourself to heal.and healing can be uncomfortable. our individual experiences of healing will take different paths and different amounts of time, and all of it is necessary for our journey. you welcome the raw and truthful expression of emotion and you promise to be gentle with yourself as you grow. there is no time limit on healing and you allow yourself to take as long you need. it will be a long and windy road filled with detours of disappointments or a return to old behaviors, but you continue to try. sometimes self-love is about allowing yourself to face your sadness, to speak your hurts, and to sit with your feelings. sometimes self-love is recognizing all that you have endured. its looking for those little glimmers of hope that present themselves to us in the darkest of moments.

so i support you to grow in love towards yourself. i challenge you to ask yourself where it is that you hurt and why. talk if you need to or write if the words flow more easily that way. and if the tears come, let them. i encourage you to be a little more gentle, patient, and accepting of your best effort as you try.

you are wonderful and capable and kind.

and you are deserving of your love.

Orignal Source Unknow to me 

 

 

 

 
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Posted by on August 24, 2017 in random thoughts

 
 
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