She holds her hair up with only two chopsticks and a bobby pin.
Think Atlas. Think shoulders.
When your sadness starts to feast,
she carries the light down from the
mountain and hands it to you,
tells you to set it on fire.
Think Prometheus. Think savior.
On Sunday, she steps out of the shower and you don’t think you’ve ever seen anything more beautiful than the way she walks towards you with a towel on her head, water clinging to her like there is
nowhere else it would rather be.
Think Aphrodite. Think sea foam.
You love her like mythology.
You love her like the impossible stories of Gods and monsters.
When she sings, think fairies.
Think mermaids. Think hymns.
She is the face of the river that
Narcissus fell in love with,
confusing hers for his own.
She is Medusa’s fury,
You are kissing her in a crowded
restaurant and it feels like praying.
You are watching her instead of the
and you don’t even notice.
She hated the namelessness of women in stories, as if they lived and died so that men could have metaphysical insights.
— Chad Harbach, The Art of Fielding (via goldenstories)
If you want anything in life, you have to work hard to get it. That’s really it…It’s hard to find people who want it so badly that it’s all they think about. There’s a price you have to pay, and it’s putting in a lot of hours. That’s the number one thing that I tell people: work, work, work, work, work.