my love

She is not “my girl.”

She belongs to herself. And I am blessed, for with all her freedom, she still comes back to me, moment-to-moment, day-by-day, and night-by-night.

How much more blessed can I be?

Avraham Chaim, Thoughts after The Alchemist  (via suchvodka)

(Source: avraham-chaim, via creator253)

140,869 notes
Stolen:
Shirt, old; heart on sleeve. SIX WORDS (4/9/14)

(Source: ericboydblog)

108 notes
studdedpetals:

made these holographic skirts wahey
tighedye:

devils-lettuce:

it’s a mind fuck.

time is the essence of life.
under a rock and the influence

brightlightsloudnoises:

it’s a shame that
the world has
a way of
hiding people like you,

that you are too
sensitive for
shopping malls
and
coffee shops

but it’s a great to
see you
after a few drinks,
waking up,
emerging

180 notes
I once dated a writer and

Writers are forgetful,

but they remember everything.
They forget appointments and anniversaries,
but remember what you wore,
how you smelled,
on your first date…
They remember every story you’ve ever told them -
like ever,
but forget what you’ve just said.
They don’t remember to water the plants
or take out the trash,
but they don’t forget how
to make you laugh.

Writers are forgetful
because
they’re busy
remembering
the important things.

(via pancakes-andpussy-deactivated20)

403,295 notes
e4rthy:

Solar Eclipse by Willoughby Owen