I'm more punk than you, trust me

Animal lover, people hater

[knightlyhoods-deactivated202404]

listen……. ‘my love’ is literally the strongest and greatest pet name in existence. there is literally nothin better than somone callin you that….. especially when things are soft and quiet and they look at you with utter adoration and whisper “what’s the matter, my love??” or “i hope everything is okay with you, my love” like oh my god?? let me marry you already

[mypenleaksiridescence]

Fall in love with someone who calls you beautiful like it’s your name.

2am Suggestion (via mypenleaksiridescence)

[awwww-cute]

Went to a pet store today and saw this GIANT rabbit

[sweet-bitsy]

So you decided to throw money at it like a stripper

[silverghostash-deactivated20260]

stop the objectification of rabbits now

[mypenleaksiridescence]

Please don’t tell me my depression is “just a phase.” Because the sad truth is, I’d give anything for it to be just that.

(via mypenleaksiridescence)

[notparkr-deactivated20200822]

[akhunty-deactivated20240130]

I wanna be in love but also yikes

[jigglypuffsvevo]

[bepeu-deactivated20171202]

me: it was just a dream

me (internally): .. or prophecy ..

[awwdorables]

Baby otter being introduced to water

[imlesscreativethanthisurl-deact]

This is a top tier post

[i-peed-so-hard-i-laughed-deacti]

he squeak bigger than he bod

[forestwildflower-deactivated202]

@thedrunkhermit omggg my heart!!!

[thelovejournals]

iii. Loving you was the last thing I felt really good at. iv. You wanna know how I got these scars? I ripped every last piece of you out of my smile.

Rudy Francisco, Scars (via thelovejournals)

[poetryvrose]

my mother warned me about monsters in dark places but i guess she forgot to mention the monsters which live inside my head; the darkest place of them all my mother warned me about strangers but she never told me what to do when the person you loved became a stranger my mother told me to be nice to everyone but i guess she forgot to tell me to be nice to my body too my mother taught me to always speak the truth but i saw lies dripping from her tongue everyday when i asked her how she was my mother taught me how to survive but she never taught me how to be full of life. i guess my mother searched for that one piece throughout her life as well.

(via poetryvrose)

[thotbonnetpepper]

[theclassiestheaux]

I think I’ve watched this like 100 times today and I’m still crying

[icecewbs]

This kid is so fucking funny im losing my mind

[atinybeanchild]

best comedy of the year 10/10

[gif87a-com]

[knitmeapony]

Me:  Huh, what are those bottles doing?  Swinging?  Are they going to hit or something?  Ooho, that one was close…

Person in background: *does the thing!*

Me: WHAT THE FUCKING FUCK AMAZE

[yourhandwrittenletter]

The first boy who loves you wears floods because he can’t afford a new pair of jeans. He can’t look you in the eye. Not until he asks you out your sophomore year. Sweaty palms. A crack in his voice. Don’t say no. I know you want to. I know your friends are snickering about it in some corner. But I also know that you like the way he is kind and gentle and quite. Even if you won’t admit it. Even if you introduce him to your parents as a friend for the first five months of your relationship. He is real, and he is here, and he is asking you to dinner from behind a greasy mop of hair. Yes, you say. You’ll go.       The first boy who loves you picks you up late in a car with chipped paint, but apologies fall off his tongue like rain from the sky. Genuine apologies. He takes you to a place way off the grid. Some total dive. You order the pasta carbonara, and he smiles with all of his teeth when you tell him it’s the best damn food you’ve ever had. He says sweet things. Funny things. You forget that he’s weirdo boy. Lonely boy. Sad boy. When he says he likes you, has liked you for years now, you tell him you might be starting to feel the same way. Might. But when he kisses you, just barely fucking kisses you, your insides scream at the sudden rightness.       The first boy who loves you asks you why you never talk about your family, and you tell him all of the gory details. The fighting. The drinking. The divorce. And he holds you until you forget where your limbs end and his begin. Eventually, into the skin of your neck, he tells you that he loves you. You don’t say it back, but you pull him close. You lose your shirt somehow. And then the rest of your clothes. And then your mind. It’s painful and awkward and wonderful before it becomes something more. Much more. And when you let yourself relax, arching into his touch, it’s very nearly everything.       But the first boy who loves you will not be the last boy who loves you. And he is not an idiot. The first boy who loves you will not let you push him aside when you need space. He will not let you break without trying to fit you back into place like a puzzle. And when everything falls apart, he is the only thing you know how to destroy. The boy with bright eyes and bad hair and the strongest arms will stay by your side through anything. But when you ask him to leave, rip his hands from your waist and edge him towards the door, he will go. Even though you wish he wouldn’t. Even though you don’t know why you’re doing this. He will go. Because the first boy who loves you is kind and gentle and quite, but he is not an idiot.      When you look back at him, sweaty palms, a nervous crack in his voice, you will still remember everything. He called you sweetheart. And babe when he was angry. And your full name when he was feeling especially affectionate. And even though it’s over, even though other boys have loved you, the first boy who loved you will be the only boy who holds your heart in his hands, feels it beat and breath without possession or power but a reverence you still struggle to understand, and then places it back into your chest and whispers, “Live.”

a messy letter to the boy who will never know how much I loved him. (via yourhandwrittenletter)

Reading through old writing because even when it feels like everything has changed, I recognize myself here. Shuffled somewhere between the words I wrote years ago. God, I love it.

(via yourhandwrittenletter)

[thelovejournals]

It’s hard to let go. Even when what you’re holding onto is full of thorns, it’s hard to let go. Maybe especially then.

Stephen King, Joyland (via thelovejournals)

[06-06-1999]

Picky? Yes, I am picky. About food, clothes, music, but I am sure as hell am not not picky when it comes to you. You, who has pulled down my walls, one who has made me think that nothing is wrong other then a click of a pen. So simple, yet so easy to say that I chose you. Respectfully I hide and look afar as you stand so close but so far away, and oh how picky I am when I see you’re not smiling, or how you laugh at times and it’s not with me. I’m picky with emotions and every step I take, it would be easy to stand in your shadow, hand in hand and let you take lead. I am so picky but I could not have picked something so easily then with thought, you were all at once, a shock of no control or choice. I am picky. I am sure as hell not picky with my love for you.

Excerpt from a book I will never write // 8 (via 06-06-1999)

[wordsnquotes]

Take a shower, wash off the day. Drink a glass of water. Make the room dark. Lie down and close your eyes. Notice the silence. Notice your heart. Still beating. Still fighting. You made it, after all. You made it, another day. And you can make it one more. You’re doing just fine.

Charlotte Eriksson (via wordsnquotes)