I used to live my life through backpacks and textbooks;
now i just hope for peace and quiet on the little island im from.

Campbell's Tomato Soup

Someone play animal corssing city folk with me

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the sound I heard when I was 9 and my father slammed the front door so hard behind him I swear to god it shook the whole house. For the next 3 years I watched my mother break her teeth on vodka bottles. I think she stopped breathing when he left. I think part of her died. I think he took her heart with him when he walked out. Her chest is empty, just a shattered mess or cracked ribs and depression pills.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s all the blood in the sink. It’s the night that I spent 12 hours in the emergency room waiting to see if my sister was going to be okay, after the boy she loved, told her he didn’t love her anymore. It’s the crying, and the fluorescent lights, and white sneakers and pale faces and shaky breaths and blood. So much blood.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the time that I had to stay up for two days straight with my best friend while she cried and shrieked and threw up on my bedroom floor because her boyfriend fucked his ex. I swear to god she still has tear streaks stained onto her cheeks. I think when you love someone, it never really goes away.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the six weeks we had a substitute in English because our teacher was getting divorced and couldn’t handle getting out of bed. When she came back was smiling. But her hands shook so hard when she held her coffee, you could see that something was broken inside. And sometimes when things break, you can’t fix them. Nothing ever goes back to how it was. I got an A in English that year. I think her head was always spinning too hard to read any essays.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s that I do.

— It’s not that I don’t love you.  (via extrasad)

pixography:

Bertrand Faupin

allthetreesofthefield:

I lift up my eyes to the mountains—
    where does my help come from?
 My help comes from the Lord,
    the Maker of heaven and earth.

quedatelunademargarita:

Devendra and Ana make me happy.

This was never suppose to be
A love poem
But tonight I wrote down the contours of your body on lined paper.
You were never suppose to leave the corners of my mind
But yet you’re wrapped around my thoughts as if there’s a noose wrapped around my neck.
And tonight all I can see is your body; grey and red outline your sides but that might just be me losing consciousness.

It’s a funny thing coming home. Nothing changes. Everything looks the same, feels the same, even smells the same. You realize what’s changed is you.

— F. Scott Fitzgerald  (via fuckinq)

My first love
was some insignificant girl
when it should have been
myself.

Michelle K., First Love. (via asimetricna-vagina)

I destroyed my body for a peace of mind I never got.

— Unknown  (via m-i-l-a)

70years:

Eye Obsession by splattered_paint on Flickr.

Your body is the piece of the Universe you’ve been given.

— Geneen Roth  (via coyotegold)

lightsigh:

by Gerard Mursic

creativehouses:

Intimate Loft Bedroom with View of Italian Alps {More info and pics in Comments}

“She hopes for nothing except fine weather and a resolution. She wants to end properly, like a good sentence.”

- Zadie Smith

— (via famousestquotes)

SH