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2 hours ago
10,109 notes
6 hours ago
25,182 notes
11 hours ago
707 notes
tylerknott:

The sound of buzzing is upon us. Tiny wings with tiny beats filling the air with life.  The bees are back and I have missed them completely.

tylerknott:

The sound of buzzing is upon us. Tiny wings with tiny beats filling the air with life. The bees are back and I have missed them completely.

21 hours ago
2 notes

getyourjuice:

the moment before her last

you saw a pen cradled between her 

fingers and felt the soft, heated brush 

of her mouth against your earlobe.


you forgot about the fact that her dead mother once tried to suffocate you by making you feel like a poor helpless asthmatic teenage boy (again). god, you were acquainted with the smell of her

spilt blood before but it had never been like this: dark and enticing and profuse. kissing her would taste like drowning in silver. what nags at you, eats at your insides, and keeps

you awake night, after night, after night,

you now understand. you now comprehend why it was too unfathomable to say i love you because-because the words break-- ing from between your lips would only sound like goodbye.

- h.r. (07.19.2014)
21 hours ago
3,901 notes
1 day ago
3,470 notes

You know, when I become a dad, as soon as my child is born I’ll have messed up. There is an imperfection in being human that we have to accept. As the child you’ve got to learn to get over it, become your own person. You can’t keep blaming your mum and dad. It’s a tough road for young people. It definitely was for me.

You know, when I become a dad, as soon as my child is born I’ll have messed up. There is an imperfection in being human that we have to accept. As the child you’ve got to learn to get over it, become your own person. You can’t keep blaming your mum and dad. It’s a tough road for young people. It definitely was for me.

1 day ago
1,591 notes
1 day ago
3,502 notes

Jace said nothing, but he reached out and yanked the zipper open on the duffel bag, letting his belongings spill out onto the bed.

1 day ago
289,304 notes

deathbymuse:

basedtimelord:

rumpledleathertrousers:

whitebeltwriter:

WHAT IS THIS BEAUTIFUL QUALITY

ELSA-VISION

THIS IS THE ONLY FUCKING FROZEN POST I WILL EVER REBLOG BECAUSE IT IS OBVIOUS THAT WHOMEVER MADE THESE GIFS SOLD THEIR SOUL TO SATAN

THIS LOOKS BETTER THAN THE MOVIE WH AT

Reblogging because HOLY SHIT.

2 days ago
3,085 notes

chris-lll:

Savior Cleavage vs Evil Cleavage

2 days ago
3,655 notes
2 days ago
4,557 notes
2 days ago
2,669 notes
3 days ago
13,431 notes

Nikolaj Coster-Waldau by James Dimmock for Esquire UK

3 days ago
119,509 notes
I swear to every heaven ever imagined,
if I hear one more dead-eyed hipster
tell me that art is dead, I will personally summon Shakespeare
from the grave so he can tell them every reason
why he wishes he were born in a time where
he could have a damn Gmail account.
The day after I taught my mother
how to send pictures over Iphone she texted
me a blurry image of our cocker spaniel ten times in a row.
Don’t you dare try to tell me that that is not beautiful.
But whatever, go ahead and choose to stay in
your backwards-hoping-all-inclusive club
while the rest of us fall in love over Skype.
Send angry letters to state representatives,
as we record the years first sunrise so
we can remember what beginning feels like when
we are inches away from the trigger.
Lock yourself away in your Antoinette castle
while eat cake and tweet to the whole universe that we did.
Hashtag you’re a pretentious ass hole.
Van Gogh would have taken 20 selflies a day.
Sylvia Plath would have texted her lovers
nothing but heart eyed emojis when she ran out of words.
Andy Warhol would have had the worlds weirdest Vine account,
and we all would have checked it every morning while we
Snap Chat our coffee orders to the people
we wish were pressed against our lips instead of lattes.
This life is spilling over with 85 year olds
rewatching JFK’s assassination and
7 year olds teaching themselves guitar over Youtube videos.
Never again do I have to be afraid of forgetting
what my fathers voice sounds like.
No longer must we sneak into our families phonebook
to look up an eating disorder hotline for our best friend.
No more must I wonder what people in Australia sound like
or how grasshoppers procreate.
I will gleefully continue to take pictures of tulips
in public parks on my cellphone
and you will continue to scoff and that is okay.
But I hope, I pray, that one day you will realize how blessed
you are to be alive in a moment where you can google search
how to say I love you in 164 different languages.
(c) T H E M E