No but seriously

My life is a balance of thinking too much or not at all. ((Anything art and anything words)) I'm all over it. I appreciate honesty and nice people and music that matches the season.. I get way too excited about popsicle stick jokes and spiral staircases

[visual-poetry]

“COINCIDENCE” coin by micah lexier (+) & derek mccormack

[via]

[unsends-deactivated20170829]

bf: babe come over

me: i can’t, i’m having an existential crisis

bf: my parents aren’t home

me: are any of us really, truly….home?

[unflavoredwaxedfloss20]

[koleamore]

Its been 47 days since I lost you for good. What is that? A month and a half? I judge my clothes wearability by checking the sleeves for snot. Most days I cry and am forced to wipe my nose with the rough fabric. It’s usually in my car or at work or when I’m walking around with sunglasses on. I broke up with you I know. But it doesn’t take away from the sadness of it all. I hope you’re getting better, day by day. I know I’m not. I keep crying. I keep wiping my snot on my sleeves. In seven days it would be our 4 year anniversary. Thoughts like that make me wonder what the fuck I was thinking. Who sticks with somebody for 4 years. I’ve always judged our relationship by time, you know. One year. We made it. Two years. Breathe. Three years. We’re really doing this. Three and a half years. Oh fuck. You were the one person I talked to every day for 3 and a half years. And somehow when we stopped, I didn't skip a beat. I don’t think I once started a text with your name at the top just to not send it. That breaks my heart. I’m not sure when it came to that. 
Last week I started getting all these vivid memories of us together, the first memories. Not the ones I would play over and over in my head before I went to sleep because they made me happy. These were different ones. A grand finale of secret hidden scenes I had long forgotten about. Like you kissing my hand when we’re waiting for a movie to start. Or when you came home and hugged me and the way your clothes smell. When I came home and you were cooking some sort of thing with garlic, it was probably pasta. How I used to write about you. You were my muse and my love. I have more documents on my computer scribbled with sentiments devoted to you than anything else. I remembered how good it felt to be in love with you and how bad it felt missing you. 
Yet here I am, now, a hundred miles away from you. Missing all of that. But not quite missing you. I try and go back to pin point exactly when the panic set in. When I realized you were never going to be the best friend I needed or when I recognized that your addiction to telephone screens was only your attempt to cure the anxiety you felt around me. Around anyone. The moment I realized that your once calming affect on me had grown into a full blown dose of apathy and depression. Nothing excited you anymore and so nothing excited me. It’s not that we don’t love each other. It’s just that we didn’t grow anything. We had set it on autopilot and forgot that the plane needed two pilots to land safely. And then we flew that shit into the ground.

What happened between point A to point B? I try to come up with some over-arching vague stereotypical reason that I can quickly spit out in response to people’s curiosity. But I can’t. I could say it was distance, but that’s not true. It’s what happened before the distance. I’m not even sure you know for sure why. “Our relationship ran it's course” That’s a good one. As if relationships were merely naturally occurring things that end spontaneously. It would’ve worked if we worked on it. If I have learned one thing from my career in friendship longevity, it's that you have to get through things. That’s how you make it work. I’ll swear on my grave that you gave up first. Or maybe we just had the whole thing set up wrong from the start. I guess we’ll never know for sure. It’s frustrating though, it’s like finishing a maze just to find out that you went into a dead end. But we made so much distance! But that’s not how you win. I would never say it was pointless. It was the most important thing I’ve done in my life thus far. And now, I don't know what.

We’re still breathing. The world didn’t end. Everything got a little bit less serious. I wonder when I will stop crying every day.

[mymodernmet]

Macro Photos Capture the Hidden World of Nature’s Smallest Architects

[everybidenjusthavegoodtime]

I for one, don’t understand roman numerals

[mysharona1987]

[typographz-blog]

[envyavenue]

[eatsleepdraw]

Dailen Ogden Illustration

Tumblr | Twitter | Etsy

[goodluckdetective]

Protect platonic male/female friendships at all costs.

Write them. Read about them. Demand them. Decide the Harry and Sally law of “all male/female friendships will become romantic” is a bunch of bull and kick it to the curb.

Screw the guy getting with his girl best friend being the end of every romantic comedy. Have the guy go to his friend for advice. Have the girl tell him when he fucks up. Have them sitting on the porch when the sun sets, talking about their day. Have them hug and laugh, and shout for joy, and never feel pressured to bring them in for that expected kiss.

Not all soulmates are romantic. We should stop acting like it.

[koleamore]

exactly

[niadil]

Koko, a female gorilla that can communicate using sign language has a message for mankind.

[bruises-bedtimestories]

This is unbelievable why doesn’t this have more notes what the actual fuck

[typewriterdaily]

holy actual fuck

[barbarappa]

[redlipstickresurrected]

Stev'nn Hall (Canadian, b. 1966, Ontario, based Toronto) - 1: Serpentine No. 1, 2015  2: Odyssey No. 1, 2015  Photography, Ink, Oil, Pastels on Birch

[archatlas]

La Iglesia Skate Okuda San Miguel

Kaos Temple is an initiative of artist Okuda San Miguel to transform the so-called “Iglesa Skate” de Llanera (Asturias) in a real temple of art and skate. To do this, through crowdfunding platform Verkami, anyone who would like to contribute as patrons could. Thanks to all these them, the dream came true and Okuda could perform this color transformation in seven days.

Text via

[redlipstickresurrected]

Stev'nn Hall (Canadian, b. 1966, Ontario, based Toronto) - 1: Serpentine No. 1, 2015  2: Odyssey No. 1, 2015  Photography, Ink, Oil, Pastels on Birch

[tea-books-lover]

65 wonderfully cozy reading nooks for book lovers