August 28, 2011

Every hour wounds. The last one kills.

suzywire:

- Neil Gaiman

(Source: jaimelannister)

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March 30, 2011

These last two weeks

Have been intense/amazing/strange.

I miss Sunshine all the time. And sometimes I don’t know how to tell her that without sounding like, “Hey, I want you to know how much I love you, but I’m leaving again.” Or maybe I’m not leaving, but that has yet to be established. Really, I’d rather it sounded like, “I love you. I love you until it hurts and I miss you all the time, and you’re the only person that it’s fun to just lie in bed with, and I love our Sunday mornings, and our sushi outings, and I don’t hate you when I smoke. So there’s that.”

It’s been amazing hanging out with her so much lately. And all the adventures and inside jokes and ridiculousness from these past two weeks have made me so happy. And also just reaffirmed my belief that Sunshine is absolutely the best photographer ever, but also possibly the greatest human being ever. We’ll see. Nevertheless, I love our giggling in the parked car while trying to sing in high-pitched voices, “You’re not even high!”, “You feminist whore!”, spit jokes, Humphrey’s, her newfound love of four-lokos, and Bo Burnham.

Babe, I will always love you more than holocaust burritos. I don’t know how else to explain it. <3

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“ From then on I had her in my memory with so much clarity that I could do what I wanted with her. I changed the color of her eyes according to my state of mind: the color of water when she woke, the color of syrup when she laughed, the color of light when she was annoyed.
Memories of My Melancholy Whores by Gabriel Garcia Marquez (via lxstigerlily)

(Source: diamondbacklxs)

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February 11, 2011

i am a stump for you // Sarah Morgan

longwinter:

syllablefingers:

count the rings.
this is how long i’ve waited.

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I don’t want to be bitter.

But everything within thirty miles of you is making it really fucking hard for me not to.

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(Source: possibleheart)

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January 13, 2011
his pledge to her. i will kill the spiders. i will share my fries with you when you’ve finished all yours and are still hungry. i won’t ever pop my collar.  i will never be rude to your tummy- when i hear it growl and gurgle, i promise to bend down and reply respectfully. i will eat the mushrooms when we order the supreme pizza. i will kiss the papercuts. and the door-slammed finger. and the counter-bumped hip. i’ll try my hardest not to get annoyed when you whisper questions and comments during movies. i will be the big spoon. i will let you win at wrestling. sometimes. other times i will not. i will go faster. harder. i will pull when you want. and tease you when you don’t. i will send you random txts and leave you silly gifts. not always. not on schedule. just whenever i want to. whenever i think you need one. or seven. i will check your tire pressure. and remind you to take your car in. i will hold your hand. i will love you. i will love you. i will love you.

his pledge to her.

i will kill the spiders. i will share my fries with you when you’ve finished all yours and are still hungry. i won’t ever pop my collar.  i will never be rude to your tummy- when i hear it growl and gurgle, i promise to bend down and reply respectfully. i will eat the mushrooms when we order the supreme pizza. i will kiss the papercuts. and the door-slammed finger. and the counter-bumped hip. i’ll try my hardest not to get annoyed when you whisper questions and comments during movies. i will be the big spoon. i will let you win at wrestling. sometimes. other times i will not. i will go faster. harder. i will pull when you want. and tease you when you don’t. i will send you random txts and leave you silly gifts. not always. not on schedule. just whenever i want to. whenever i think you need one. or seven. i will check your tire pressure. and remind you to take your car in. i will hold your hand. i will love you. i will love you. i will love you.

(Source: Flickr / chrisop, via heavenlyhotchkiss)

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Hi. My name is Tara. Tomorrow is my eighteenth birthday, and I thought that I&#8217;d have shit figured out by this time. However, I do not. Nice to meet you.

Hi. My name is Tara. Tomorrow is my eighteenth birthday, and I thought that I’d have shit figured out by this time. However, I do not. Nice to meet you.

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I changed my mind.

Admittedly, yes, my feelings were hurt and I completely blame you for the puke that I got on my best friend’s scarf. I don’t think you even took the time to consider the impact that this situation would have on anyone else. Your actions were not well-intended. Even so, I don’t believe that you’re a bad person. A little misguided, but you’ll grow. We all have some growing to do.
I’m not bitter, I promise. I know that you don’t care, but I just needed to say it. As much as I wish I could be angry at you and hate you just so that I don’t have to remember how horrible you made me feel, I don’t, and I won’t. I honestly hope that you have a great life. Maybe go back to school. Maybe stop doing things that are harmful to your health. Maybe live a really, really spectacular life.

P.S. - that really was my favorite pillow and I only kind of dislike you for making me not want it back.

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January 2, 2011

(Source: croptopsandbigboobs, via notyourheart)

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