by-paper-and-pen

Found in the Miles

the-dorm-diaries:

My mind moves too fast, and I know I have to keep up with it.

Blood rushes to my ears, and a lion roars its upsets and pleasures, and what am I supposed to do when every part of me requires action? Stay still? How, when every fiber of my being is excited to the point of ignition – atoms ready to burst into flames?   

I pool movement into my limbs. Legs feel lighter. Feet skirt above shadows cast by the trees I run past.  Sometimes I cry on my runs. Sometimes I laugh and dance. Sometimes I run because passions reign far too strongly inside me. And other times, I run to fill the hollow space of no emotion.

When I was fifteen, running away became an addiction – a cure for my teenage angst. It was the only time I ever heard real silence. Yet still, at eighteen, I started to fall in love with the sound of footsteps. Rapid, quick, and sure.  I was lost, I admit, but not as lost as I had once been. Forging ahead with beat up sneakers had a way of figuring out who I was. At nineteen, after feeling as though my life was just momentarily aligned (a cute boy, a good grade, a confident smile)… I yelped with joy and ran two miles completely barefoot.

For the good and bad, I never knew that running away would turn into this. I don’t run away anymore. I just run.  

The best part is the way that my shoes now scrape off words from the concrete beneath my feet.  Organize. That’s what happens. When I run, my thoughts - those deafening, booming, thundering thoughts – become stories…characters…ideas.

 Inspiration.

 I find mine in miles.

-Bonnie Markou

Wrote this for a writing blog I keep with some friends. I figured it fits this blog too. 

paintnpavement
wintrymist:

heretherebefandom:

salgexicon:

damn-i-love-hot-pockets:

I’m crying so hard right now guys, it’s taking a lot of effort to type properly, my vision’s all blurry from the tears and not wearing my glasses
This is my arm, covered in butterflies as part of The Butterfly Project. All are in various states of fading, except for that shiny new one, with the polka dots, which is why I’m crying.
I just got back from walking to Cosmo’s, a cafe near my house that I go to often. While I was sitting there, waiting for my drink, a man (who seemed maybe in his mid to late thirties, like 36 at the most) tapped my shoulder. I was already on-edge because I was by myself, something I don’t do often, so a strange man talking to me made me jumpy.
He had a serious look on his face, and he pointed to my arm. “Those butterflies on your arm. Are they for The Butterfly Project?”
Still flustered, and now embarrassed, I told him yes they were. “For yourself, or did you do them for your friend?” he asked. I told him that they were for myself.
“Can I sit?” he asked, and I said something like “Yeah, sure.” cause I was still all nervous and stuff
He then pulls a black Sharpie out of his pocket. “Would you please let me draw a butterfly on your arm?”
I almost started crying right there. A complete stranger wanted to give me a butterfly. I told him yes and gave him my arm, and he drew that beautiful polka-dotted butterfly right there.
I asked him how he knew of The Butterfly Project, and he told me this:
“I found out about it last year. My… My son committed suicide, because some kids at his school were bullying him because they found out he was gay. After that, I looked up as many suicide prevention and self-harm help things I could. I don’t want anyone to commit suicide or harm themselves for any reason.”
I didn’t know what to say- I’m not very god with words. I told him I was sorry that he had to lose his son like that, and I thanked him profusely for the butterfly.
We talked for a while about things; self-harm, homosexuality, bullying. When I had to go, I stood and he hugged me and said “I love you. Please, don’t ever harm yourself again. I know it’s hard, resisting the urge, but please stay strong for me.”
I had to bite my tongue to hold back the tears. I said I’d try my hardest, and he smiled and left.
I never asked his name. I wish I would have, because that man is one of the kindest, most beautiful souls I have ever met. I wish I could thank him again.

Oh my god, that is so beautiful… 

This is the reason projects like this exist.

literally started crying ;;

wintrymist:

heretherebefandom:

salgexicon:

damn-i-love-hot-pockets:

I’m crying so hard right now guys, it’s taking a lot of effort to type properly, my vision’s all blurry from the tears and not wearing my glasses

This is my arm, covered in butterflies as part of The Butterfly Project. All are in various states of fading, except for that shiny new one, with the polka dots, which is why I’m crying.

I just got back from walking to Cosmo’s, a cafe near my house that I go to often. While I was sitting there, waiting for my drink, a man (who seemed maybe in his mid to late thirties, like 36 at the most) tapped my shoulder. I was already on-edge because I was by myself, something I don’t do often, so a strange man talking to me made me jumpy.

He had a serious look on his face, and he pointed to my arm. “Those butterflies on your arm. Are they for The Butterfly Project?”

Still flustered, and now embarrassed, I told him yes they were. “For yourself, or did you do them for your friend?” he asked. I told him that they were for myself.

“Can I sit?” he asked, and I said something like “Yeah, sure.” cause I was still all nervous and stuff

He then pulls a black Sharpie out of his pocket. “Would you please let me draw a butterfly on your arm?”

I almost started crying right there. A complete stranger wanted to give me a butterfly. I told him yes and gave him my arm, and he drew that beautiful polka-dotted butterfly right there.

I asked him how he knew of The Butterfly Project, and he told me this:

“I found out about it last year. My… My son committed suicide, because some kids at his school were bullying him because they found out he was gay. After that, I looked up as many suicide prevention and self-harm help things I could. I don’t want anyone to commit suicide or harm themselves for any reason.”

I didn’t know what to say- I’m not very god with words. I told him I was sorry that he had to lose his son like that, and I thanked him profusely for the butterfly.

We talked for a while about things; self-harm, homosexuality, bullying. When I had to go, I stood and he hugged me and said “I love you. Please, don’t ever harm yourself again. I know it’s hard, resisting the urge, but please stay strong for me.”

I had to bite my tongue to hold back the tears. I said I’d try my hardest, and he smiled and left.

I never asked his name. I wish I would have, because that man is one of the kindest, most beautiful souls I have ever met. I wish I could thank him again.

Oh my god, that is so beautiful… 

This is the reason projects like this exist.

literally started crying ;;