were once as soft as water.
And that’s the tragedy of living. — Iain S. Thomas (via poetisch)
She is not “my girl.”
She belongs to herself. And I am blessed, for with all her freedom, she still comes back to me, moment-to-moment, day-by-day, and night-by-night.
How much more blessed can I be?— Avraham Chaim, Thoughts after The Alchemist (via barbieandken)