(via thesexkitten)
Nothing compares to your hands, nothing like the green-gold of your eyes. My body is filled with you for days and days. You are the mirror of the night. The violent flash of lightening. The dampness of the earth. The hollow of your armpits is my shelter. My fingertips touch your blood. All my joy is to feel like spring from your flower-fountain that mine keeps to fill all the paths of my nerves which are yours.
—Love letter from Frida Kahlo to Diego Rivera (via fleurishes)
(via midnightweeds)
(Source: weheartit.com, via midnightweeds)
(Source: january-nineteen)
(via electro-light)
(Source: pushthemovement, via neverclipmywingz)
(Source: sirmitchell, via cuntbarf)
Imagining the future is a kind of nostalgia. (…) You spend your whole life stuck in the labyrinth, thinking about how you’ll escape it one day, and how awesome it will be, and imagining that future keeps you going, but you never do it. You just use the future to escape the present.
—John Green, Looking for Alaska (via cassket)
(via attackingkarsen)
some people look really good in pictures but then not in real life
some people look really good in real life and not in pictures
i look really good behind a brick wall.
(Source: puredestruction, via ptrparker)
