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Sweet Seals For You, Always
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Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
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Today's Document
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@sneakynom
People always say that it hurts at night and apparently screaming into your pillow at 3am is the romantic equivalent of being heartbroken. But sometimes it’s 9am on a tuesday morning and you’re standing at the kitchen bench waiting for the toast to pop up And the smell of dusty sunlight and earl gray tea makes you miss them so much you don’t know what to do with your hands.
Rosie Scanlan, On Missing Them (via bluegirls)
I will cradle your tears in my hands as I reach into your chest. Gently. I’ll pull it all in, squeeze it to mine, as the seams of my skin break and split. I’ll sew them again too, with those spare strands of hair that stick to your eyelashes.
I’ll separate the lead from your thoughts to stop you sinking. Break the surface, take a breath. Although they are heavy, solid. Like your pupils in the dark, they glisten, like the tears in my hands.
Sometimes I just admire the shadows of your eyelashes and it's too lovely
Death happens in mid-conversation
My wise and wonderful grandmother
Happiness in intelligent people is the rarest thing I know.
Earnest Hemmingway (via vehxt)
In between hours
The hours where life pauses, the point of dawn where the first bird leads with a solo chorus and your thoughts come clean through that amazing, purity before the taint of the suns exposure. It’s those hours I find myself looking at my life through glass, the outlines defined and the colours bold and obvious. The shadows too. It’s those hours that I feel a space inside my chest for my emotions to pool and wander, rampage or simmer. It’s those hours that I ride rivers of thought with no life vest, and toy with the risk of drowning.
Vampire Hunter D. by Yoshitaka Amano
Pink lemonade book stack.
NEW interview for MishkaNYC!
OkArt, the girl and the birds
People always say that it hurts at night and apparently screaming into your pillow at 3am is the romantic equivalent of being heartbroken. But sometimes it’s 9am on a tuesday morning and you’re standing at the kitchen bench waiting for the toast to pop up And the smell of dusty sunlight and earl gray tea makes you miss them so much you don’t know what to do with your hands.
Rosie Scanlan, On Missing Them (via bluegirls)
"Friendship sure in the twisted fingers and placid silences, while soft grooves of porcelain skin beckon to denial of the stranger; temptation."
My biggest fear isn’t that you’ll lie to me one day or that you’ll cheat on me. My biggest fear is that you’ll wake up before me one Tuesday morning and instead of leaning in and kissing me on the cheek, you’ll look at my sleeping body and start to notice all of my flaws. My crooked nose, my chapped lips and the stretch marks spread along my stomach and thighs like a road map. You’ll think about my random spouts of jealousy and the fact that I talk too much. You’ll remember how annoying it is that no matter what, I’m always right and just how selfish I can be sometimes. You’ll walk into the kitchen, brew a cup of black coffee, stare at the pale morning rays of sunlight entering the window frame, and come to the conclusion, that for no particular reason at all, you don’t love me anymore.
things that keep me up at night (via fam-e)
damn..
(via mak-yeezy)
