There is a place where the sidewalk ends
And before the street begins,
And there the grass grows soft and white,
And there the sun burns crimson bright,
And there the moon-bird rests from his flight
To cool in the peppermint wind.
Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black
And the dark street winds and bends.
Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow
We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And watch where the chalk-white arrows go
To the place where the sidewalk ends.
Yes we’ll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And we’ll go where the chalk-white arrows go,
For the children, they mark, and the children, they know
The place where the sidewalk ends.
Shel Silverstein, Where the Sidewalk Ends (via arzitekt
"Miraculously recover or die. That’s the extent of our cultural bandwidth for chronic illness."
"Unexpressed emotions will never die. They are buried alive and they will come forth later in uglier ways."
"To the people who love you, you are beautiful already. This is not because they’re blind to your shortcomings but because they see your soul. Your shortcomings then dim by comparison. The people who care about you are willing to let you be imperfect and beautiful, too."