letgodbaby:

True love

(via whyyy)

sometimes i find myself sitting in one spot for hours, staring at nothing, thinking of nothing, feeling nothing, and, most disturbingly, caring about nothing.

Mahbod Seraji, Rooftops of Tehrant (via fragilis)

(via fastreader)

Self-forgiveness is essential to self-healing.

Ruth Carter Stapleton (via littlebradshaw)

(via littlebradshaw)

(via cycliic)

bitchbot:

*uses hot laptop to relieve cramps*

(via whyyy)

plantkitten:

i love you im glad you exist im so happy you’re alive

(via east-ern)

twiabpaianlatfwnogf:

*sees a dog* *gasps loudly*

(via whyyy)

Why yes, Plus Size Brand, I would love to buy a shapeless white tshirt with some huge lettering and an animal print.

no plus size person ever (via femmadilemma)

(via sleeptightgrimrite)

Women writers make for rewarding (and efficient) lovers. They are clever liars to fathers and husbands; yet they never hold their tongues too long, nor keep ardent typing fingers still.

Roman Payne, Rooftop Soliloquy (via autumn-requiem)

climateadaptation:

newyorker

(via fuckyeahexistentialism)

peterthewebslingerparker:

the-overcast:

feelings about university 

post from a blog i had when i was 17. i’m in my third year now and i love it. #lol

Lil cutie now and forever tho

thank u ily <3

feelings about university 

post from a blog i had when i was 17. i’m in my third year now and i love it. #lol

autumn-requiem:

Sylvia Plath is one of the only reasons i haven’t given up on writing entirely.  
I love my rejection slips. They show me I try.”

TO THE YOUNG WHO WANT TO DIE

Sit down. Inhale. Exhale.

The gun will wait. The lake will wait.
The tall gall in the small seductive vial
will wait will wait:
will wait a week: will wait through April.
You do not have to die this certain day.
Death will abide, will pamper your postponement.
I assure you death will wait. Death has
a lot of time. Death can
attend to you tomorrow. Or next week. Death is
just down the street; is most obliging neighbor;
can meet you any moment.

You need not die today.
Stay here—through pout or pain or peskyness.
Stay here. See what the news is going to be tomorrow.

Graves grow no green that you can use.
Remember, green’s your color. You are Spring.

Kinda pointless to fight for what you want when what you want continues to break your heart.

 Molly McAdams, Stealing Harper  (via c-oquetry)

(via h0odrich)