.::frivolous::.
She's a Leo with seven piercings, three tattoos and astigmatism who studies Nihongo on Saturdays, shuts her brain off on Sundays and for the rest of the week tries to make all her dreams come true.
“What if you didn’t run? This one time. What if you stayed, and let love overtake you?”
Josh Bennett  (via the-rootsofcreation)

(Source: angiewrites, via parkstepp)

lewdmucus:

thetimetravelersguidetothegalaxy:

whambamthankyama-am:

venustus101:

samsaranmusing:

If you were alive in the 90s this will mean something to you.

If you ever decide you want to declare your love for me, make me one of these.  

This is awesome, wow. Love.

wow this is pretty neat

Oh gawd, I love it

(via iheartgeek)

The Patience of Ordinary Things

It is a kind of love, is it not? 
How the cup holds the tea, 
How the chair stands sturdy and foursquare, 
How the floor receives the bottoms of shoes 
Or toes.  How soles of feet know 
Where they’re supposed to be.
I’ve been thinking about the patience 
Of ordinary things, how clothes
Wait respectfully in closets 
And soap dries quietly in the dish,
And towels drink the wet 
From the skin of the back.
And the lovely repetition of stairs.
And what is more generous than a window?

Pat Schneider 

(via apatheticbydefault)

“

You conclude: “Do you want to kiss me?”

I turn my face away while my eyes furtively peek at your lips.

”
Litotes, Eileen R. Tabios
“How fragile we are, between the few good moments.”
Jane Hirschfield (via likeafieldmouse)
artdetails: Salvador Dalí, Printemps Nécrophilique (detail), 1936

artdetails:

Salvador Dalí, Printemps Nécrophilique (detail), 1936

(via buried-denmark)

“Maybe we shouldn’t meet again. Tengo stared up at the ceiling. Wasn’t it better if we kept this desire to each other hidden within them, and never actually got together? That way, there would always be hope in their hearts. That hope would be small, yet vital flame that warmed them to their core - a tiny flame to cup one’s hands around and protect from the wind, a flame that the violent winds of reality might easily extinguish.”
1Q84, Haruki Murakami