when you’re buying something and the cashier gives you change and people are waiting in line behind you and slowly moving forward and you’re trying to cram your change in your wallet and get out of the way as fast as you can that shit is horrifying and traumatic

(via waves-of-moonlight)

When you’re in love, especially at the beginning, I’m sure there’s some scientific proof that your chemical make-up, your brain and what it’s capable of is actually different. You can reach for stars and things formerly impossible. Your psyche is cracked open, more flexible, you’re able to evolve out of your traps, and maybe, finally, you eat what you haven’t eaten in life. You want to have it all and you can see ways in which maybe you can, maybe your old stuck self was just a story, maybe there are other better stories you can tell yourself. You can be braver, more insightful, more psychic, kinder and meaner, and truly out of your old boundaries.

Yes this wildness invites mistakes and delusions and tremendous fear, and this spell does go away. But the transience and the messiness of this state shouldn’t be some proof that it was all false. It’s easy to criticize love, especially new love, to look at it as silly or young or false consciousness - but I believe it can bring change to you, and after the new flood of love has naturally been absorbed into your life and body - the change still works on you, it keeps moving through your system though in a much more subterranean way.
I saw that in my dad and myself, and it’s part of what I wanted to document in Beginners, a big part actually.

Similarly, it’s easy to mock a song like Heroes for being too facile, too easily romantic, just pretty - but it reminds me of the wonderful heroic charge that love can give you. Like a little ritual or something - this song is for me a way to point at, and remember, and re-enact that empowering, weird, wild, sad and happy flood of new love.

I do believe in an everyday sort of magic—the inexplicable connectedness we sometimes experience with places, people, works of art and the like; the eerie appropriateness of moments of synchronicity; the whispered voice, the hidden presence, when we think we’re alone.

 Charles de Lint  (via peach-juices)

(via girlswillbeboys)