Wild Sunbeam Of Life

Go forth and be bold, that way when he offers you the world you can say you have your own

[marypsue]

Kill the idea that naivety is an unforgivable flaw but cynicism is just wisdom, murder it, chop it up and serve it for dinner, I don’t care, just end this bullshit idea that it’s better to hate than to love and better to rot in miserable bitter resignation than to hope for the best.

[okazilla]

[haleyincarnate]

Neil Hilborn, Our Numbered Days

[ema-j-blog]

[sabonhomeblog]

Calo des Moro: by Dennis_F via Flickr

[radiantquotes]

[orenda-h]

PSA for my girls

1. stop waiting for the boy who doesn’t care to send a half thought out text that doesn’t resemble an apology

2. he knows he fucked up but that doesn’t change who he is or where he is in his life

3 his girlfriend should know.

4. (but it’s not your responsibility to tell her)

[blunder]

[mademoiselle-lolita]

[blunder]

[hairstylesbeauty]

[timbllr]

via weheartit

[octoberbrunette]

[orenda-h]

sometimes you’ve got to burn some bridges just to create some distance

[stopgivingthemthings-deactivate]

All I want for Christmas is:

dark grey eye shadow

fingerless gloves

a fluffy oversized grey sweater

[opossummypossum]

[teenagerposts]

just possum things

[timbllr]

Flooding Thoughts by Tasha Marie Via Flickr

[bled]

[allloversbetray]

December 24th and we’re through again. This time for good I know because I didn’t throw you out — and anyway we waved. No shoes. No angry doors. We folded clothes and went our separate ways. You left behind that flannel shirt of yours I liked but remembered to take your toothbrush. Where are you tonight? Richard, it’s Christmas Eve again and old ghosts come back home. I’m sitting by the Christmas tree wondering where did we go wrong. Okay, we didn’t work, and all memories to tell you the truth aren’t good. But sometimes there were good times. Love was good. I loved your crooked sleep beside me and never dreamed afraid. There should be stars for great wars like ours. There ought to be awards and plenty of champagne for the survivors. After all the years of degradations, the several holidays of failure, there should be something to commemorate the pain. Someday we’ll forget that great Brazil disaster. Till then, Richard, I wish you well. I wish you love affairs and plenty of hot water, and women kinder than I treated you. I forget the reason, but I loved you once, remember? Maybe in this season, drunk and sentimental, I’m willing to admit a part of me, crazed and kamikaze, ripe for anarchy, loves still.

Sandra Cisneros, “One Last Poem for Richard” (via allloversbetray)