I Like The Darkness

There's something to the feeling of not knowing your surroundings, not seeing the color of things as they appear, but as they truly are. there's something about the unknown, the quiet, the cold. There's something unspoken about the dark, something I can never quite put words to. Something terrifying yet beautiful.

[condemnedbones-deactivated20120]

[reminds]

People change. There’s no warning and they usually don’t care if it hurts you.

life (via reminds)

[yoursummerdreamz]

[drift-wood96-deactivated2019061]

[hello-lolo-blog1]

And you tried to change, didn’t you? Closed your mouth more. Tried to be softer, prettier, less volatile, less awake… You can’t make homes out of human beings. Someone should have already told you that. And if he wants to leave, then let him leave. You are terrifying, and strange, and beautiful. Something not everyone knows how to love.

Warsan Shire, For Women Who Are Difficult To Love (via hello-lolo)

[watch-me-fade]

[ashotatthenight]

basically

[yoursummerdreamz]

[wordsnquotes]

How glad I am that you exist.

Vita Sackville-West, “Letter to Virginia Woolf" (via wordsnquotes)

[mymindsajoke-blog]

[juliemarie228]

[suicide-is-my-father]

[thezealotsblindfold]

[gilestori-blog]

[glumshoe]

I’m suddenly laughing at the idea of a cliche noir detective story written in the brutally concise style of Hemingway.

A woman walked into my office. She had legs. I noticed her legs. “I have a problem. I need your help,” she said. They always said that. I knew her legs weren’t the problem. I hoped she might want my help with them anyhow.

[glumshoe]

“Can you pay?” I asked. Of course she could. Her shoes were worth more than my rent. She could pay. “I can pay,” she said. Her eyes were wet. I wondered if anything else was wet. Probably not. I am not handsome. Not since the war. She was looking at my scar. Lots of people do. Most look away. Not her. She did not look away. She looked at my scar and I looked at her legs. There were two of them. I liked that about her. I liked that a whole lot. “Will there be danger?” I asked. There always is. This city bleeds danger, then drinks it right back up again.

[glumshoe]

“I’m afraid there might be danger,” she said. She had the voice of a beautiful woman. She also had the face and body of a beautiful woman. She was beautiful.

The light from the window was striped. It made stripes on my cigarette smoke. The end of my cigarette crumbled into ash. My marriage had also crumbled into ash.

“I can handle danger,” I said. I patted the butt of my gun. My gun was a Colt. My gun and my scar were all that was left from my time as a soldier. My gun, my scar, and the nightmares. I looked her up and down. “I am good at handling things.”

[wrong-url-motherfucker]

[idealistsconundrum]