"Have you ever been in love? Horrible isn’t it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens up your heart and it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up. You build up all these defenses, you build up a whole suit of armor, so that nothing can hurt you, then one stupid person, no different from any other stupid person, wanders into your stupid life…You give them a piece of you. They didn’t ask for it. They did something dumb one day, like kiss you or smile at you, and then your life isn’t your own anymore. Love takes hostages. It gets inside you. It eats you out and leaves you crying in the darkness, so simple a phrase like ‘maybe we should be just friends’ turns into a glass splinter working its way into your heart. It hurts. Not just in the imagination. Not just in the mind. It’s a soul-hurt, a real gets-inside-you-and-rips-you-apart pain. I hate love."
Neil GaimanThe Sandman, Vol. 9: The Kindly Ones (via feellng)

(via pyrrhic-kaiaka)

"just this. just this, this room where we are. pay attention to that. pay attention to who’s there. pay attention to what isn’t known there. pay attention to what is known there. pay attention to what everyone is thinking or feeling; what you’re doing there. pay attention. pay attention."
w.s. merwin on nirvana and the buddha’s revelation (via whenthewhiterabbitpeaks)

(via partitionplease)

17 notes + reblog
posted 2 days ago
bloodrivalry:

I’m addicted to Disneyland’s churros and I think that’s the only reason why I keep going back.
69,978 notes + reblog
posted 2 days ago
sex-thrill:

 
1,755 notes + reblog
posted 2 days ago
drunknight:

INSTAGRAM
"I know I shake when you don’t call and I feel like I can’t breathe when you forget to tell me you love me. I know that sometimes the words that come spilling out of my mouth at 3 AM make me sound crazy. I know that I love you a little too much. I know everything really hurts right now. I hope you know that I will always be here to keep the blood inside your veins. I hope you know that I will always be here to kiss you goodnight even if I fall asleep crying afterwards. I hope you know that you are the only reason I’ve still got stars hidden under my skin. I hope you know that you are the only thing that keeps the flowers in my lungs from dying. I know we’re fucked up. I know that sometimes I make you feel like you’re choking. I hope you know that I’m sorry. I hope you know that I see you in everything. I hope you know that it’s okay. I hope you know that you’re all I want. I hope you know that I think you’re wonderful. I hope you know that I think you’re every sunset and every thunderstorm and every cup of tea in the universe. I hope you know that you are my entire galaxy. I hope you know that I love you."
everything I know, everything I hope that you know (via extrasad)

(via twistedtorture)

902 notes + reblog
posted 5 days ago
694 notes + reblog
posted 5 days ago
"You’re in a party, and the music is blasting and you feel like your veins are pumping together along with the beat. In one corner, the guy who was hosting the party was holding a mike and was in charge of the body shots. This is sickly, you think as everybody came here for a purpose, to forget what they needs to be forgotten. The girl who you know has a boyfriend has somebody sucking her neck by the hall. You could smell cocaine in the bathroom. Let the aura of rebellion hit you in the form of bullets and the revolver was her lips. You drink the beer handed to you by your friend and all you want to do is throw it outside with the rose bushes. Is this maturity, you ask? But then you realize everybody in this roof has gotten hurt, and some are clutching their mobile phones like a proud gold medal, smoked and baked, taking in to realisation on how it was easy for them to call their exes. Everybody is missing someone, and each person is drinking to forget about the same person. Is this how the youth handles their problems, you ask? Yes. So if you’re reading this now, tell her you fucking love her. Tell her you love her before you become the definition of disintegration when you see her smiling with another boy. Get out of that jungle of people lying to themselves, and drive to her house. Feel the adrenaline, imagine how beautiful she looks during this hour, with her face bare and oversized shirts to sleep on. Step on the gas. Knock on her door. Kiss her. Make her yours."
a.s., heart cramps  (via mossyribs)

(via bloodrivalry)

230,080 notes + reblog
posted 6 days ago
1,273 notes + reblog
posted 6 days ago
superdiadem:

little kid ;)
"Loyalty isn’t grey. It’s black and white. You’re either loyal completely, or not loyal at all. And people have to understand this. You can’t be loyal only when it serves you."
122,582 notes + reblog
posted 1 week ago
"

I love being horribly straightforward. I love sending reckless text messages (because how reckless can a form of digitized communication be?) and telling people I love them and telling people they are absolutely magical humans and I cannot believe they really exist. I love saying, Kiss me harder, and You’re a good person, and, You brighten my day. I live my life as straight-forward as possible.
Because one day, I might get hit by a bus.

Maybe it’s weird. Maybe it’s scary. Maybe it seems downright impossible to just be—to just let people know you want them, need them, feel like, in this very moment, you will die if you do not see them, hold them, touch them in some way whether its your feet on their thighs on the couch or your tongue in their mouth or your heart in their hands.

But there is nothing more beautiful than being desperate.

And there is nothing more risky than pretending not to care.

We are young and we are human and we are beautiful and we are not as in control as we think we are. We never know who needs us back. We never know the magic that can arise between ourselves and other humans.

We never know when the bus is coming.

"
"She ran the back of her hand along the first shelf, listening to the shuffle of her fingernails gliding across the spinal chord of each book. It sounded like an instrument, or the notes of running feet."
Markus Zusak, The Book Thief (via thebooker)

(via bloodypounds)