Untitled

insidemycrazyarms:

love-tastes-like-lemon-juice:

opium-eyes:

planetaryeuphoria:

danielleraeee:

Woodstock, 1969….. oh my god…..

The things i would do to be there

the things I would do to be able to experience all of this

The things I would DO THERE

I wish the hills still looked that way.

Five things you'd like to do before you die?
Anonymous

helainetieu:

  1. Travel to every single continent 
  2. Be married to someone for the rest of my life
  3. Own an army of Pomeranians 
  4. Be rich enough to take care of my parents until they die
  5. Have awesome kids who raise awesome kids

tentaclesandteacups:

skankfairy:

This is fucking disgusting

Good thing I didn’t get it done for your validation then, eh?

tentaclesandteacups:

skankfairy:

This is fucking disgusting

Good thing I didn’t get it done for your validation then, eh?

neobeatgeneration:

Salvador Dali drawing a penis on the forehead of a woman and signing it with Picasso’s signature.

neobeatgeneration:

Salvador Dali drawing a penis on the forehead of a woman and signing it with Picasso’s signature.

With despair, true optimism begins: the optimism of the man who expects nothing, who knows he has no rights and nothing coming to him, who rejoices in counting on himself alone and in acting alone for the good of all.
Jean-Paul Sartre (via nautically)
The worst part about being lied to is knowing you weren’t worth the truth.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the sound I heard when I was 9 and my father slammed the front door so hard behind him I swear to god it shook the whole house. For the next 3 years I watched my mother break her teeth on vodka bottles. I think she stopped breathing when he left. I think part of her died. I think he took her heart with him when he walked out. Her chest is empty, just a shattered mess or cracked ribs and depression pills.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s all the blood in the sink. It’s the night that I spent 12 hours in the emergency room waiting to see if my sister was going to be okay, after the boy she loved, told her he didn’t love her anymore. It’s the crying, and the fluorescent lights, and white sneakers and pale faces and shaky breaths and blood. So much blood.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the time that I had to stay up for two days straight with my best friend while she cried and shrieked and threw up on my bedroom floor because her boyfriend fucked his ex. I swear to god she still has tear streaks stained onto her cheeks. I think when you love someone, it never really goes away.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the six weeks we had a substitute in English because our teacher was getting divorced and couldn’t handle getting out of bed. When she came back was smiling. But her hands shook so hard when she held her coffee, you could see that something was broken inside. And sometimes when things break, you can’t fix them. Nothing ever goes back to how it was. I got an A in English that year. I think her head was always spinning too hard to read any essays.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s that I do.

It’s not that I don’t love you.  (via extrasad)

geeses:

bunnies are so stupid i love them

Life would be so much easier if we just told people how we felt. There’s noting wrong with telling someone that you love them, or that it hurts your feelings when they do something, or that you miss them. But we’re all just too scared to let people know how we actually feel.
(via jasminesmind)

tristyntothesea:

The speed limit is “always make sure there’s someone going faster than you”.