Someday I'll be part of that world. Hannah, twenty, ENFP, drawn to the magic. Current NYU Tisch theatre major whose 6 year old soul flew away to Neverland.

Instagram: princesshannahbanana

You can't take the sky from me. ♥

missmaceymouse:

deviousdormouse:

i just want grand californian hot chocolate and sleep

Always

scientificenterprise:

my role at family functions is to look the best and to drink the wine

(via cigarettes-and-skim-milk)

WHAT IS THIS??? Does anyone know? Are these DLP trolley dancers?
insanity-and-vanity:

"Champagne & Cigarettes"
i think i finally realized what i had been feeling all day was not nerves; but instead an after taste of regret.
i’ve swallowed words back that i’ve wanted to share with you; an entire novel is pounding in my throat, being repeatedly typed & scratched out.
i’ve devoured every single bit of emotion for you, & gobbled down the last drop of substance i’ve wanted you to feel from me.
there’s a ringing in my chest; i know its a part of you saying ‘hello, don’t forget me’, and a piece of you wondering why i haven’t left a message after the beep.
my stomach is churning; a dangerous sea, threatening to overflow with memories of you & me.
late night poems i., x.a (via a-hazy-mood)

(via moreofalarrk)


After learning my flight was detained 4 hours,
I heard the announcement:
If anyone in the vicinity of gate 4-A understands any Arabic,
Please come to the gate immediately.

Well—one pauses these days. Gate 4-A was my own gate. I went there.
An older woman in full traditional Palestinian dress,
Just like my grandma wore, was crumpled to the floor, wailing loudly.
Help, said the flight service person. Talk to her. What is her
Problem? we told her the flight was going to be four hours late and she
Did this.

I put my arm around her and spoke to her haltingly.
Shu dow-a, shu- biduck habibti, stani stani schway, min fadlick,
Sho bit se-wee?

The minute she heard any words she knew—however poorly used—
She stopped crying.

She thought our flight had been canceled entirely.
She needed to be in El Paso for some major medical treatment the
Following day. I said no, no, we’re fine, you’ll get there, just late,

Who is picking you up? Let’s call him and tell him.
We called her son and I spoke with him in English.
I told him I would stay with his mother till we got on the plane and
Would ride next to her—Southwest.

She talked to him. Then we called her other sons just for the fun of it.

Then we called my dad and he and she spoke for a while in Arabic and
Found out of course they had ten shared friends.

Then I thought just for the heck of it why not call some Palestinian
Poets I know and let them chat with her. This all took up about 2 hours.

She was laughing a lot by then. Telling about her life. Answering
Questions.

She had pulled a sack of homemade mamool cookies—little powdered
Sugar crumbly mounds stuffed with dates and nuts—out of her bag—
And was offering them to all the women at the gate.

To my amazement, not a single woman declined one. It was like a
Sacrament. The traveler from Argentina, the traveler from California,
The lovely woman from Laredo—we were all covered with the same
Powdered sugar. And smiling. There are no better cookies.

And then the airline broke out the free beverages from huge coolers—
Non-alcoholic—and the two little girls for our flight, one African
American, one Mexican American—ran around serving us all apple juice
And lemonade and they were covered with powdered sugar too.

And I noticed my new best friend—by now we were holding hands—
Had a potted plant poking out of her bag, some medicinal thing,

With green furry leaves. Such an old country traveling tradition. Always
Carry a plant. Always stay rooted to somewhere.

And I looked around that gate of late and weary ones and thought,
This is the world I want to live in. The shared world.

Not a single person in this gate—once the crying of confusion stopped
—has seemed apprehensive about any other person.

They took the cookies. I wanted to hug all those other women too.
This can still happen anywhere.

Not everything is lost.

Naomi Shihab Nye (b. 1952), “Wandering Around an Albuquerque Airport Terminal.” I think this poem may be making the rounds, this week, but that’s as it should be.  (via oliviacirce)

When I lose hope in the world, I remember this poem.

(via bookoisseur)

Tears.

(via hillarygayle)

(via levenades)


naimakka:

Swedish midsummer. 
People need to be encouraged. People need to be reminded of how wonderful they are. People need to be believed in—told that they are brave and smart and capable of accomplishing all the dreams they dream and more. Remind each other of this.
— Stacey Jean Speer (via m0re-adventurous)

(via anditslove)


When you go through a traumatic event, there’s a lot of shame that comes with that. A lot of loss of self-esteem. That can become debilitating.
— Willie Aames (via kushandwizdom)

(via ohkay0929)


theneonrebel:

Lasting impressions …
Stop saying it’s okay when your soul’s bleeding. Stop trying to dodge knives that always end up in the depths of your heart. Stop looking to the ceiling hoping that tears won’t overflow. Stop taking people’s shit. Walk away. Fuck them all.
Self advice, E.B. (via loveless-people)

(via anditslove)