March 2012
64 posts
I’m sorry I couldn’t get off the plane.
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February 2012
59 posts
Anonymous asked: I miss you.
lucasgaddam asked: You. Me. Forever?
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ASK ME THINGS. →
Because tumblr is boring me right now and I’m not tired.
It takes guts to be gentle and kind.
Like a monkey, ready to be shot into space. Ready to sacrifice himself for the greater good. Space monkey.
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The anchor around my ankle.
Bad dreams.
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Is that what you call a get away?
Well tell me what you got away with,
Cause I’ve seen more spine in jellyfish,
I’ve seen more guts in 11 year old kids.
So have another drink and drive yourself home,
I hope there’s ice on all the roads,
And you can think of me when you forget your seatbelt,
And again when your head goes through the windshield.
Is that what you call...
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Trying to kick me while I’m down, and it’s working.
So I’ll get mine, you’ll get yours, and if we’re both happy it’s settled forevermore.
You still have a chance to write my name again, but will you do choose the pencil or the pen?
emilyyarnoldd asked: Hey Alex! I'm glad that post was refreshing for you. That's exciting. Love you.
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So we make jokes back home, and we lighten the mood, but growing up my parents saw, what sending a kid to fight can really do, but now with the war I can tell they’re a little shook up, ‘cause just a few mothers sons will never really be enough, not ‘til half our names are etched out in the wall, and the other half ruined from the things we saw.
Don't Give Up
emilyyarnoldd:
“Here is a call for the endurance of the saints” (Revelation 14:12).
We all long for rest and refreshment. That’s a God-given longing that he promises to fulfill: “I will satisfy the weary soul, and every languishing soul I will replenish” (Jeremiah 31:25).
And in a very real way Jesus gives rest to “all who labor and are heavy laden” and come to him (Matthew 11:28). But in this...
Listen
Endless bummer.
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Why do you think I blew up your condo?
“Oh my darling, when you smile, it is like a song, and I can hear it now.”
– Kathy with a K’s Song by Bright Eyes
“Carpe the shit out of this fuckin’ diem.”
– Austin Boyd
Well I wrote your name and burned it,
To see the color of the flame.
And it burned out the whole spectrum,
As if you were everything.
Mine just burned gold,
Normal flame.
I am not anything.
Coming down to the wire. This is it.
I know we’re in the fire,
But we could be purified, like gold.
Or we could be ash, dirt you won’t want to hold.
This is it,
The fork in the road.
The end of the rope.
The rubber meets the road.
The climax of one of two stories forever told.
I know this hurts,
But we could be pure like gold.
Or will you let us be ash,
Once burning...