But I will never forget
The way you made me feel
Like I was everything
And I will never forget
The way you made me feel
Like I was nothing

-I don’t know who to credit for this. But it’s not my work.

It speaks to what is left of my heart. 

(via verschluesselt)

fool-of-fail unf0rgivingly
She was bored. She loved, had capacity to love, for love, to give and accept love. Only she tried twice and failed twice to find somebody not just strong enough to deserve it, earn it, match it, but even brave enough to accept it. William Faulkner, The Town (via wordsnquotes)
cakejam that-funny-guy
I’ve been hurt so bad and I still love so hard. I admire my heart for that. Alexandra Elle, Words from a Wanderer  (via sexual-feelings)
mourningmelody nothingisfinite
chicosbienuniverse azyin
thebeautyofwordsblog.com bonesmadeofstone
I think you still love me, but we can’t escape the fact that I’m not enough for you. I knew this was going to happen. So I’m not blaming you for falling in love with another woman. I’m not angry, either. I should be, but I’m not. I just feel pain. A lot of pain. I thought I could imagine how much this would hurt, but I was wrong. Haruki Murakami, South of the Border, West of the Sun (via throttling)
throttling 0blivi0usness


please don’t flirt with people i secretly like it’s rude and disrespectful

foodtrucker lost-forever-in-wonderland
thecitythehills laurenconradaily



prepare for high school then prepare for college then prepare for your career then prepare for retirement then you’re dead 

then prepare for skeleton war


vuls mean-redss
Part of me wants to drop out of college and go travel the world.
Part of me wants to work really hard in college and change the world.
Part of me wants to not work hard at all and marry some rich guy.
And the other 97% of me just wants to sleep. (via sincerelypalita)
relaxsmilebreathe ppositivityy
I wanted it to be you. I wanted it to be you so badly. Kathleen Kelly, You’ve Got Mail - via jeremy-atticus (via perfect)
jeremy-atticus bonesmadeofstone
I think about you. But I don’t say it anymore. Marguerite Duras, Hiroshima, Mon Amour (1959)
larmoyante aqua--relle
-teesa- dontwinfriendswithsalad
install theme