They say the first time you get hurt is the hardest, then you adapt. I don’t. I don’t adapt to hurt. I don’t adapt to pain.

I can toughen up, if you give me time. I can. But toughening up itself, is heartbreaking. I feel that I am giving a part of myself away by agreeing to not feel anything anymore. I feel that a part of me is thrown out into the indefinite space and there is nothing left of me to hold onto.

I have never been taught to live in any other way. I’ve been taught to go where you have to go and give your all, wherever you go. To carry my heart on a silver platter and hand it to those who feel like stabbing it.

The good thing about that is, you get better at sewing your own heart back together. You get better at believing that chances are to be taken. You get optimistic although you initially lose hope in yourself. That pain you feel in your chest, it’ll go away. Because you’ll carry it on your sleeve again, while repairing it, so it can catch beautiful moments and pretty smiles. You will walk with it open to the world again, because that is the only way you know how to walk.

So fall deep and fall fast. Life is too short to not feel anything. Life is too short.

'Love those who you can while you have them. Let them go when you must. That is all you can do. If you know how to love, you will never run out'

Walk proud. Walk strong. And walk with your heart on your sleeve.

"Perhaps we will never be. But I can continue to hope, can’t I?"

doctorswithoutborders:

Photo by Ashley Gilbertson/VII Photo
At MSF’s cholera treatment clinic in the Carrefour area of Port-au-Prince, the head doctor, who comes from Ghana, treated this emergency patient on Wednesday. People continue to deal with this deadly disease that first appeared in Haiti after the 2010 earthquake. The photographer said: “It’s inspiring, though, knowing that every single person in the hospitalization ward will survive because they’re receiving medical attention. It’s been some time since I’ve worked with MSF, and I forgot how much I respect the organization and how moved I am by their work.”

doctorswithoutborders:

Photo by Jacob Zocherman

These two women in the maternity ward of Bria hospital in Central African Republic have just had miscarriages. One of them must recover on the floor because there are so few beds in so few health facilities in the area. This photo was taken shortly before MSF opened an emergency project in Bria.

  1. Camera: Nikon D800
  2. Aperture: f/10
  3. Exposure: 1/13th
  4. Focal Length: 50mm

doctorswithoutborders:

Photo by Ron Haviv/VII Photo

The new Childhood TB Roadmap could help reverse years of neglect:http://bit.ly/1eWUFT0 

(Source: livinterrupted)

"If all that I am
poured into all that you are,
what then would we be?"

Next time, we’ll know better. We’ll dream better. We’ll dream higher. We’ll aim better. We’ll be better.

Next time, I’ll be everything I can’t be now. Next time, I’ll be everything.

But for this time, we’ll be ourselves. We’ll dream of ordinary things. We’ll dream of laughs coming from our tummies and dream of days filled with sunlight. We’ll aim for success and we’ll aim for love. We’ll aim for what we know to be possible. We’ll aim. We’ll fight. We’ll be enough.

Next time, you’ll show me the way. You’ll guide me to being a better me. But that’s for next time. This time, we’ll just smile at each other when we meet by the road, we’ll sigh inside for the time long past gone. And we’ll walk away, knowing that we were enough. Just never enough for each other.

We’ll stare into the emptiness of what we have become. And smile at the nothingness, smile for the time long gone by. We’ll be happy inside. We’ll be happy.

Next time, you’ll have it all. Next time, the tears won’t exist. But for this time, we’ll look at each other through clearer eyes and reminisce on the laughs gone by. We’ll laugh for the sake of laughing. And maybe we’ll fake caring for the sake of it.

Next time, things will be better. But then, next time will never come.

Next time… Next time… La prochaine fois, je t’aimerai de tout mon coeur, mais d’abord, Il faut que j’apprenne à m’aimer

The monotony, it’s going to kill me. I know. It;s the enemy of all things. Monotony.

Dearest, understand my feeling. Understand how my heart beats when you come close. Understand how I wish you knew things. Understand that I wish.

The greatest of all creations is the one who can differentiate from right and wrong and act on it. But why does this hurt so? Why does it hurt so to watch you walk away? Why does it hurt so knowing that this will never be ours?
The monotony, I’m going to need saving. I need to see the light. I need to feel. Feel. Feel.

Tell me, do you see it in my eyes? Do you feel it too? Or is just my imagination? Is it me or is it you? I feel like the desert we’re in is pouring with rain, and I am so lost because the desert doesn’t usually see rain, does it?

The water pouring on me is so astoundingly strong. How could I ever handle not walking with you? How could I ever handle watching the horizon fade from everything to nothing?

But tell me, do the stars fascinate you the same way they fascinate me? Because I’ve seen you look. Not at stars, but I’ve seen you look. I’ve seen you observe. I’ve heard you hesitate before you say something. I’ve felt your confidence from all sides of me.

Then why, why, why does this hurt? Why does it make me feel suffocated? Why is it that when I am not with you, I feel like I can’t breathe? Why is it that you mean so much? When clearly, I’m just one drop of your rain.

"He is too deep for me."
Ludwig Wittgenstein, on Søren Kierkegaard (x)