surprise me...

Beliefs: respect eachothers thoughts.ideas.opinions Ones ethnicity & culture is irreplacable, and is a true gift. Armenian pride.

[twenty1-grams]

swim - grunge art su We Heart It - http://weheartit.com/entry/167667248

[contigurl]

[larmoyante]

I am not the first person you loved. You are not the first person I looked at with a mouthful of forevers. We have both known loss like the sharp edges of a knife. We have both lived with lips more scar tissue than skin. Our love came unannounced in the middle of the night. Our love came when we’d given up on asking love to come. I think that has to be part of its miracle. This is how we heal. I will kiss you like forgiveness. You will hold me like I’m hope. Our arms will bandage and we will press promises between us like flowers in a book. I will write sonnets to the salt of sweat on your skin. I will write novels to the scar of your nose. I will write a dictionary of all the words I have used trying to describe the way it feels to have finally, finally found you. And I will not be afraid of your scars. I know sometimes it’s still hard to let me see you in all your cracked perfection, but please know: whether it’s the days you burn more brilliant than the sun or the nights you collapse into my lap your body broken into a thousand questions, you are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. I will love you when you are a still day. I will love you when you are a hurricane.

Clementine von Radics, “Mouthful of Forever”  

[wavingtovirginia]

[surprisemme-blog]

Portraits of Virginia Woolf taken  by Lady Ottoline Morrell, June 1926.

[psych-facts]

Do not fall in love with people like me. I will take you to museums, and parks, and monuments, and kiss you in every beautiful place, so that you can never go back to them without tasting me like blood in your mouth. I will destroy you in the most beautiful way possible. And when I leave you will finally understand, why storms are named after people.

Katrina, M.K., & Unknown 

[lovemakesyouwonder]

[meggielynne]

[mpdrolet]

[surprisemme-blog]

Couple Sleeping, 1953

[stable]

[psych-facts]

Happiness in intelligent people is the rarest thing I know.

Ernest Hemingway 

[thisoneisdone]

The first time I saw her, everything went quiet. All the ticks, all the constantly refreshing images just disappeared. When you have Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, you don’t really get quiet moments. Even in bed I’m thinking: Did I lock the doors? Yes. Did I was my hands? Yes. Did I lock the doors? Yes. Did I wash my hands? Yes. But when I saw her, the only thing I could think about was the hairpin curve of her lips… Or the eyelash on her cheek— the eyelash on her cheek— the eyelash on her cheek. I knew I had to talk to her. I asked her out six times in thirty seconds. She said yes after the third one, but none of them felt right so I had to keep going. On our first date I spent more time organizing my meal by color than I did eating it, or talking to her. But she loved it. She loved that I had to kiss her goodbye sixteen time or twenty-four times if it was Wednesday. She loved that it took me forever to walk home because there are a lot of cracks on her sidewalk. When we moved in together, she said she felt safe, like no one would ever rob us because I DEFINITELY locked the door eighteen times. I’d always watch her mouth when she talked— when she talked— when she talked— when she talked; When she said she loved me, her mouth would curl up at the edges. And at night she would lay in bed and watch me turn all the lights off…and on, and off, and on, and off, and on, and off, and on, and off. She’d close her eyes and imagine that the days and nights were just passing in front of her. Some mornings I’d start kissing her goodbye but she’d just leave cause I was making her late for work. When I stopped at a crack on the sidewalk, she just kept walking. When she said she loved me, her mouth was a straight line. She told me I was taking up too much of her time. Last week, she started sleeping at her mothers place. She told me she shouldn’t of let me get so attached to her; that this whole thing was a mistake. But how can it be a mistake that I don’t have to wash my hands after I touch her? Love is not a mistake, and it’s killing me that she can run away from this and I just can’t. I can’t go out and find someone new because I always think of her. Usually when I obsess over things, I see germs sneaking into my skin. I see myself crushed by an endless succession of cars. She was the first beautiful thing I ever got stuck on. I want to wake up every morning thinking about the way she holds her steering wheel, how she turns shower knobs like she’s opening a safe. How she blows out candles— blows out candles— blows out candles— blows out candles— blows out— Now I just think about who else is kissing her. I can’t breathe because he only kisses her once—he doesn’t care if it’s perfect. I want her back so bad. I leave the door unlocked. I leave the lights on.

OCD by Neil Hilborn

[kulturtava-deactivated20170606]

[teleart]

[l-isan]

[valvoyeur]

[thelovewhisperer]

I always think of you before I fall asleep. The words you said, the way you looked. The things we laughed about, the silent moments we shared. And when I dream, I’ll dream of you. Because it’s about you, it’s always about you.

(via agentlemenscoup)

[destroyeddreamsandhate]