(Source: pustule, via puke-party)
nightly activities: listening to perfectly angelic music and being disgusted with myself along with everything around me.
(Source: pale-blood, via deseda)
You expected to be sad in the fall. Part of you died each year when the leaves fell from the trees and their branches were bare against the wind and the cold, wintery light. But you knew there would always be the spring, as you knew the river would flow again after it was frozen. When the cold rains kept on and killed the spring, it was as though a young person died for no reason.
—Ernest Hemingway, A Moveable Feast (via lonehands)
(Source: larmoyante, via lonehands)
doing chores while high isn’t that bad, it’s actually sort of fun (^_^)
I love the ground under his feet, and the air over his head, and everything he touches and every word he says. I love all his looks, and all his actions and him entirely and all together.
—Emily Brontë (via supermutant)
(Source: bavarde, via supermutant)
