Chianté Regail

Just. Books.

Just. Books.

“They were still in the happier stage of love. They were full of brave illusions about each other, tremendous illusions, so that the communion of self with self seemed to be on a plane where no other human relations mattered. They both seemed to have arrived there with an extraordinary innocence as though a series of pure accidents had driven them together, so many accidents that at last they were forced to conclude that they were for each other.”
— F. Scott Fitzgerald, Tender is the Night (via honeyforthehomeless)
“I have scars on my hands from touching certain people.”
— J.D. Salinger (via rhea137)

(Source: huntedandgathered, via libraryland)

kingdomoffear:

1984. George Orwell. 1949. Dystopian Novel.


Yeah..

kingdomoffear:

1984. George Orwell. 1949. Dystopian Novel.

Yeah..

(via libraryland)

Light. Feet.

When I was in 
middle school. I ran. 
On a team. And I loved it. 
As I got older, 
I stopped running. 
And for the life of me, 
I still cannot 
recall why. Was ii friends? 
Classes? Typical teenage thinking? 
Eventually, my legs just 
stopped moving. And somehow, 
I still was running. 
For change.

Change. A lovely word isn’t it? But, 
some of us have formed a protest against it. While, 
some of us engage in battle with it. Whereas, 
some of us have formed an alliance beside it. And, some of us construct treaties with it. 

Change: residences, careers, 
people, situations…change. But, 
we tend to remember 
people the most.  As, somehow
we notice their 
change 
before our own.

Early last year, I 
began to run, again. 
Just me. I never stopped 
loving it. And, although 
I don’t remember exactly why 
I stopped running, 
I do know why I started. 
…because that very day
I stopped running, 
I also, started 
change.