To memories vehemently, purposely forgotten, the five senses can be so deadly. Yet there’s something masochistically surprising about the fabric of it all. When a sense ignites a memory, you feel the gravity of the already-passed situation all over again. You feel again the memory once very much your reality. And through that renewed feeling you are brought close again to the loved one lost.  

i love you.

<3 

m. 

ps. never leave tumblr open around me :}

As it is, I need proof beyond a reasonable doubt before I can assign true belief into God. The curious case of a single-parent birth in old Roman Palestine has me a bit vexed. I’m constantly in between belief and brushing Christianity off as a mass gathering of wishful psychology. 

I took biology last summer, and in the brief course learned essentially nothing about actual biological mechanisms and such. Biology1001 is only enjoyable in retrospect…ha

But the class really got me to think about whether any of the mathematical perfections and beautiful consistencies of nature could really be coincidence, especially with chaos at every helm.  

Is this really a synchronous accident, or is the Golden Ratio the toil & labor of a God?

In any case, the ritualistic pilings most religions observe makes me think that while God probably does exist, we don’t know anything beyond that. The rest is primarily natural need for a leader; one that happens to be a lot like ourselves. But even that is self-glorification, and if there is a God, he deserves a lot more credit than that.  

for all the talk about diversity, there is a distinct lack of persons willing to think outside the narrow alleys of the majority.

the definition of diversity has distorted itself, particularly on college campuses. superficial, physical traits are now what makes everyone diverse, but really internally, most folks here think very much the same. 

but in the end—if there’s one immeasurable lesson learned last semester, it’s that a person can pretend to be whoever the hell, but I will always know who the real you is. 

If they think you’re cool, you’re probably nothing special. So stop catering to the average.

A discomfort and hesitance comes with using the word “love” in a serious manner. In terms of relationships, in our language (and many more, doubtless), the term expresses a more serious emotional singularity- but infantile regurgitations and tacky poetry have cheapened “love” perhaps beyond repair.

Love is not flush with rosy cheeks and vignette photos-there’s no justice in limiting a universal concept to such closed minded perimeters. It’s more so a willingness to surrender personal selfishness in the interest of another person or entity, at the risk of emotional havoc (this is not to say that havoc will happen, necessarily).  ”Risk assessments” become skewed; the love is enough of a reward to make any risk. When you’re in love, you’re deftly able to adjust your own life in the name of another, even if there’s no palpable, equitable return on the sacrifices you’ve made. 

You’ll shout your loudest and there might be no answer. You’ll piece together words affectionately to perhaps no measurable reciprocation. But no matter what, you’ll keep persisting, trying—and that’s when you know “it’s true love.”

Trolololololololol

👾

studying this: 

and we’re like