To love a person is to see all of their magic, and to remind them of it when they have forgotten.
Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don’t know how to replenish its source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of witherings, of tarnishings.
— Anaïs Nin (via coraxon)
Stop insisting on clearing your head — clear your fucking heart instead.