The Scrapbook To My Life...

'...I'm in love with places I've never been, and people I've never met...'

242,445 notes

My mother tells me
that when I meet someone I like,
I have to ask them three questions:

1. what are you afraid of?
2. do you like dogs?
3. what do you do when it rains?

of those three, she says the first one is the most important.
“They gotta be scared of something, baby. Everybody is. If they aren’t afraid of anything, then they don’t believe in anything, either.”

I met you on a Sunday, right
after church.
one look and my heart fell into
my stomach like a trap door.

on our second date,
I asked you what you were afraid of.
“spiders, mostly. being alone. little children, like, the ones who just learned how to push a kid over on the playground. oh and space. holy shit, space.”
I asked you if you liked dogs.
“I have three.”
I asked you what you do when it rains.
“sleep, mostly. sometimes I sit at the window and watch the rain droplets race. I make a shelter out of plastic in my backyard for all the stray animals; leave them food and a place to sleep.”

he smiled like he knew.
like his mom told him the same
thing.
“how about you?”

me?
I’m scared of everything.
of the hole in the o-zone layer,
of the lady next door who never
smiles at her dog,
and especially of all the secrets
the government must be breaking
it’s back trying to keep from us.
I love dogs so much, you have no idea.
I sleep when it rains.
I want to tell everyone I love them.
I want to find every stray animal and bring them home.
I want to wake up in your hair
and make you shitty coffee
and kiss your neck
and draw silly stick figures of us.
I never want to ask anyone else
these questions
ever again.

three questions - Caitlyn Siehl (via fearlessknightsandfairytales)

(Source: alonesomes, via beforeiloveandleaveyou)

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5,060 notes

Represent your culture. Your heritage.
Be proud of the tongue your great grandmother spoke.
Be proud of the land your parents left behind;
the home they long to go back to.
Be proud of the thousand and some stitches that go into your people’s clothing.
Be proud of the foods that took thousands of year to perfect.
Be proud of the skin color that you carry with you- it weighs more than any flag.
Be proud of your culture,
because when you go out into their world,
They won’t care about what you’ve accomplished,
what you’ve become.

They’ll tear you down and look at you with disdain,
they will speak slowly to you so you “comprehend” what rubbish they have to say but won’t give a damn that your vocabulary spans two oceans, four languages, and countless generations.
Be proud of where you came from because,
be it from a mile away,
or a conversation face to face,

they will treat you like the dirt they step on,
when you are silken rugs of Iran,
the dunes of Rajasthan,
the lakes of Pakistan,
and the sounds of Delhi.
Be proud.

Fakir

(via baawri)

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