Live.Love.Smile

Fashion is my art. The world is my insperation. Travel is my wonderwall.
instagram: @mays1d

blvcknvy:

With sabr comes great things. Alhamdulillah for what I lost. Alhamdulillah for what He blessed me with, today.
His promises are indeed true.

I’ve cried in front of him more times than I can actually count; some nights he kisses my face and I collapse like a dying star in his bed, other nights I am spilling sunlight from my mouth, wiping tears from the corners of my eyes while I laugh endlessly.

I am at the deli counter when he texts me to tell me that if I was a fruit, I’d be a fineapple; I am in the passenger seat of his car when plays with my bare ring finger, making promises that don’t need to be spoken out loud; I am cradled against his shoulder while I explain the electricity he sends to my veins. I am standing in front of the mirror, tracing the marks his mouth leaves behind; I am a map of all the places he has loved me.

One night, I took a pregnancy test in Walgreen’s bathroom while the rest of our city blurred by under rainy skies. The tiny pink line let us breathe sighs of relief, and maybe a little bit of sadness, into each other’s shoulders. He holds my shaking hands, and I know what it’s like to not be so afraid.

The day my body turned on me, I think his hair began to gray. I sit in the waiting room at the hospital and wonder about the growths inside of me; about the pain in the pit of my stomach; I wonder about what I would’ve done without him that day. We’ve been sitting in the same chairs for three hours now, and he’s fallen asleep. He wakes up when the nurse comes to check my blood pressure and rate my pain again; I tell her I’m at a seven out of ten, and he rubs the back of my hand with his thumb and taps his foot. When the nurse leaves, I say, “I’m sorry you chose the sick one” and with no hesitation, he says “I’m not” and I swallow my tears and my pain.

And I guess if I had to pick a way to describe how I’ve been feeling lately, it would be thankful. And maybe all of this a thank you note, maybe each line I etch into my own history book is a thank you to note to him. It’s thanking him for being patient with my nightmares and long showers; with my tears and the gaps in my sentences. Thank you notes for the arch in my back and the goosebumps on my forearms, for the bruises across my collarbone, for his voice in my ear. Thank you notes for the stars on his ceiling and his thumb across my cheek; thank you notes for the sun in my lungs; for the love that has given me more than words can describe; thank you notes for all the stars in his eyes and the place in his heart that was built for me.

five thank you notes. (jl)

(via poppyflowerpoetry)

tigermisu:

mario party more like if you steal one more of my stars i’ll fucking murder you

(via encourage)