I’ve been waiting so long to find this.
I hate this feeling. Like I’m here, but I’m not. Like someone cares. But they don’t. Like I belong somewhere else, anywhere but here, and escape lies just past that snowy window, cool and crisp as the February air.
Ellen Hopkins, Impulse (via larmoyante)
Be melting snow.
Wash yourself of yourself.
Rumi (via misswallflower)