Why do you live in your body like you will be given another? As if it were temporary. You starve it, you let anyone touch it, you berate it. Tell it that it should be completely different. You tug at your soft flesh, wish it thinner, wish it gone. You fall in love with those who praise the way it sighs under their hands, but who praises the way it holds up your weight, even when you are falling apart?
Warsan Shire  (via wildluna)

(Source: chippedpink, via con-torted)

The habit of despair is worse than despair itself.
Albert Camus, from The Plague (via rabid-glow)

(Source: violentwavesofemotion, via rabid-glow)