I first made my appearance at 2:05 a.m., weighing 7 pounds, 10 ounces in a small clinic in Cuba under a torrential thunderstorm in the midst of summer. My mom was in labor for 4 hours compared to the 16 hours she endured with my brother. She teased that I was dying to get out and see the world already and that has not changed. I want to remember these tiny details, things only she would know, so I constantly interrogate. I ask her to tell me stories about my past and hers. Information that, along with her, would otherwise eventually turn into stardust. I want to record and remember. I may never become famous and no one would care about what time I was born or my weight on the world, but as long as I am here, these are tidbits of my life that will always connect me to her and myself. My father is gone, and I made the mistake of not asking him enough. I knew my father, but I did not know the man behind that title too well. I am not going to repeat history with the last connection to who I am.
Everyone has a story to tell. Just ask and write your own story.
(via lunadepetalos)
Good morning/afternoon, my peeps. Have a beautiful day!
(via butterfliesandlotus)
There is an
unsung melody
snared in
the marrow
of her bones.
It yearns
to be unleashed
to saturate the
walls that
divide her.
It would be
the most
beautiful sound
and even the gods
would agree,
this is a voice
of an angel
with beauty
she cannot see.
What a piece of work is a man!
How noble in reason. How infinite in faculties.
In form and moving, how express and admirable.
In action how like an angel.
In apprehension how like a god.
The beauty of the world.
The paragon of animals.
And yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust?
(via butterfliesandlotus)
I wonder where you are
and how you must look.
Do you have facial hair,
any new scars,
or a broken spirit?
We were only babes
with the stars
at our feet
while we held
each other’s hand
never claiming defeat.
(via lunadepetalos)
(via shoestringsandpersimmons)