The hours between 12am and 6am
have a funny habit of making you feel
like you’re either on top of the world,
or under it.

Beau Taplin || the hours between.  (via ac-ru)

(Source: afadthatlastsforever, via quitlurking)

(Source: celestialsloth, via meeyamoo)

mitunathehelicaptor:

i love when people say my name cause its like hey thats me

(Source: kaitokirishima, via the-absolute-funniest-posts)

You can’t find intimacy—you can’t find home—when you’re always hiding behind masks. Intimacy requires a certain level of vulnerability. It requires a certain level of you exposing your fragmented, contradictory self to someone else. You running the risk of having your core self rejected and hurt and misunderstood.

Junot Díaz (via psych-facts)

(Source: channelyouth, via cellapacheco)

kixxinq:

School sucks and I just want to watch Netflix in my pajamas

(via unplannedchild)

ultra-overdosin:

livelawless:

lnvocation:

My thighs are huge cuz they’re full of secrets

Wrap them around my ears and let me hear them all

Smooth as fuck

(via cellapacheco)

Do it.
Get on the plane, get the train,
Walk 300 miles.
Get to her front door and tell her
“I know this is crazy
But I need you now.”
Our lives are too short to always be sensible,
Get the girl.
Distance makes no difference if your eyes light up when she laughs.

What’s the good of living if you don’t try a few things?

Charles M. Schulz (via kushandwizdom)

Let me tell you a
secret about when
I realized I loved him

it was sometime
after midnight and
we had shed our clothes
and walls like snake skin
and I started believing
in his eyes like I had
found God

I pinched the skin
on my sides, and smiled
with my mouth, but not
with my eyes and I
admitted that I was not
completely happy with myself

(in fact, I have never been
completely anything, I have
always had just one foot
in the water, or half my heart
out in the open)

Shocked, he held and kissed me
and then said (jokingly) that
“Only my opinion matters,
remember?
And I think you’re beautiful,
and I love being with you.”

And oh God, how much I do love being whole again.

Someone put my pieces back together— a sequel by Amanda Katherine Ricketson (via -poetic)

(via carrrymyheart)

I don’t think people love me. They love versions of me I have spun for them, versions of me they have construed in their minds. The easy versions of me, the easy parts of me to love. Who’s going to love the girl that can’t stop crying? The girl that hurts herself? The girl that is losing control? The girl that is so sad she can’t get out of bed? The girl that keeps pushing everyone away? Who’s going to love the monster in me, who’s going to love me now?