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Photo Post Wed, Apr. 16, 2014 59,396 notes

(Source: jackryanz, via religiousmother)




Video Post Wed, Apr. 16, 2014 172,592 notes

officialfrenchtoast:

modern day rebels

(via religiousmother)




Photo Post Wed, Mar. 26, 2014 3,007 notes

(Source: lovepaeceandshit, via mark-humpus)




Text Post Wed, Mar. 26, 2014 107,297 notes

helloheart-bumblingmess:

What a lovely winter we’re having this spring.

(Source: wildhairedgale, via southerngreekgirl)







Quote Post Wed, Mar. 26, 2014 7,740 notes

a) Sometimes when you’re kissing me, I’ll shy away. I’ll pull my face away from yours and sigh and you’ll ask me “What’s the matter?” or “Is everything okay?” or “What’s wrong?” and for all of one second I truly believe you give a shit. That you are wondering what’s happened that’s made me question everything but then I understand, you are not concerned with how I feel or what is causing me to pull away. You fear of me pulling away. You fear of the idea that I am going to pull away and pull all the way away. Out your door, out of your apartment, out of your life and you’ll have no one left to lie in bed with and kiss. You need a warm body and I need someone to listen. I need someone who can take 5 minutes of their time and genuinely ask “what’s wrong?” and when I say what I always say, when I say, “oh nothing, I was just thinking.” They’ll sit up in bed, feeling concerned and ask me what I am thinking about and what’s on my mind and if everything is okay and hold me while I cry and tell the tales of how I’ve ruined my own life and how they have ruined my life and how he’s ruined my life by only caring about me for as long as he can keep me in his bed. But instead when he asked me what is wrong I just smile, tell him I’m thinking and then when he smiles back, I shall allow him to kiss my nose with a sense of gentleness unexpected from a man of his kind and then kiss my mouth long and soft as he lives in his ignorant bliss and I mellow into my thinking about how this wasn’t right and how badly I wanted to leave but knew I was nothing without someone to tell me I was something worth acknowledging because most don’t anymore.

b) He likes to take pictures of me. Let it be known he isn’t the next world famous artist by any means. For example, last night while I lied naked on his couch and he pulled out his phone and took a picture of me there, feeling as insecure as I ever had. He looked at the picture then back at me then back at the picture again then he smiled a most gruesome smile, as if he could not resist his urge to tear me apart both emotionally and sexually although so far he had only done one. I lied there waiting for some sort of confirmation that he gave a fucking fuck about me and he told me I was hot. Before him, I was never hot. I was a lot of things but rarely was I hot. I was interesting, I was funny, I was an intelligent fucking human being worth more than the ass boobs and vagina attached to me frame. Now? Well now I’m nothing more than a couple hole for him to stick his all mighty cock into. Sometimes it works out just fine, I pretend I am content and he pretends he is faithful and if we could I think we’d both just stay there and pretend for the rest of our lives we were happy. But you can only keep up such an act for the scene and then at the end as the curtain of our night would close.

c) I’d go home and regret ever stepping foot into the threshold of his embrace. I regret ever allowing myself to make a home out of his fraudulent kisses because no human can be a home. Below it all, he can barely support himself let alone me, and he knows that. He makes many homes and only stays in each for a short time. Switching homes back and forth. No second thoughts or regrets.

d) It truly does work out, I swear. Such a fair-weather friend , he calls me when he would like me and we hold each other and mess around like the stupid kids we are. But don’t pity me for it because like I said, it works, because with his face between my legs, he’ll never be able to see the anger and self-loathing in my eyes and he’ll never see it in my heart because there he’d never think to look there.

e) Before he kissed me the very first time, he told me how poetic he thought I was but now I begin to question if he heard poetry in the words he never really cared enough to listen to or if he found iambic pentameter in how each curve of my body would flow into the next.

f) I always said I’d never let myself be with a cheater, I also used to tell myself I’d never smoke cigarettes. Looks like I have a couple apologies to make.

g) Date one and date two had me under the impression we may have been able to last. You held me, made me laugh, kissed my nose my forehead, my lips. That illusion has been thoroughly shattered as the kisses moved south and the laughter turned to moans.


Everything I Ever Wrote About the Boy Who Took My Virginity.  (via uoa)

(Source: foils, via bethanyweng)





Text Post Wed, Mar. 26, 2014 14 notes

"We met at the wrong time. That’s what I keep telling myself anyway. Maybe one day years from now, we’ll meet in a coffee shop in a far away city somewhere and we could give it another shot."

anapodogamwto:

growtowardthelight:

Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind

(via inhibital)






Photo Post Thu, Mar. 20, 2014 232,805 notes

(Source: i-am-haleyrose, via transsit)




Photo Post Thu, Mar. 20, 2014 9,778 notes

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Quote Post Thu, Mar. 20, 2014 15,537 notes

“You can’t force love, I realized. It’s there or it isn’t. If it’s not there, you’ve got to be able to admit it. If it is there, you’ve got to do whatever it takes to protect the ones you love.”


Richelle Mead, Frostbite (via larmoyante)

(via d4ggermouth)




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