our heads like london weather

"Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean that it is not real?"

[ruminaisruminais]

hi

[ruminaisruminais]

i miss when i was a secret

[ruminaisruminais]

i miss this blog 

[ruminaisruminais]

reminder that i've moved blogs (kind of); feel free to send me an ask if you'd like a link

[asp3n]

Oxford by MJayne

[ruminaisruminais]

i'm leaving this blog you can find me on another one if you send me an ask

[skyschai-deactivated20160228]

[thesteward]

[ruminaisruminais]

Visit Original Link

Clangour and Flutes - Sin Fang

[dormanta]

Beauty, Zuhair Murad Haute Couture Printemps/Été 2013

[richardsikendaily]

I woke up in the morning and I didn’t want anything, didn’t do anything,              couldn’t do it anyway, just lay there listening to the blood rush through me and it never made              any sense, anything.

[whatshawn]

[thatwaterlifethough]

For you, a thousand times over.

[ruminaisruminais]

"for you, a thousand times over"

Yesterday night I finished The Kite Runner after a week of not being able to put it down without my heart doubling over and my eyes burning and I wanted to sleep with it, to hold it to my chest and let the words diffuse into my circulatory system or maybe sear them into my skin because. Because. I remember starting it in tenth grade and being utterly absorbed - and then I lost my borrowed copy to library dues and classwork and unhappy times and didn't get my hands on another battered copy until it appeared at a used book sale this summer for $5 and now, now I know that a story like this is priceless, precious; I could spill a whole range of synonyms into this sentence and they would just barely justify the beauty of this book. 

[hamsalad]

[15natives]

liberty london’s window (by Rebecca / Aurelle)

[pigmenting]

1. To my collarbone - I’m sorry for pulling at you too strongly, for my fingers digging trenches in the crevices behind you. I thought at one point in time if I could dig holes and hide stars inside myself, people would only see a constellation of something beautiful and not the galaxy of scars across my skin. You were the emergency handle I held in the dark on an inhale, the one I could never pull free and escape. 2. To my hipbones - I used to lay on my back and push you forward like mountains. I would tiptoe my fingers across you, laying fingerprints on every inch of your land. But you were never high enough, never steep enough. I vowed to landscape the fields around you but it never worked. Today, I make peace with you. You are the small hills built for picnic blankets and toboggans. 3. To my tibia - It was the ice that fractured you. I slipped and you cracked. I was three but you were the first to make me feel incomplete, broken. My father told me that inside my bones lives stardust and I hoped that when you broke apart, it spilled into my bloodstream. I want to thank you for teaching me how to heal, how to be strong when all you want to do is shatter into a million pieces.

Kelsey Danielle, “Letters to My Bones”