gravitywhale: What I wouldn’t give… For a soft shoulder to kiss This night air is cold
taste the crust but not the whole pie, we are teased but never satisfied
☥ One Day It'll All Make Sense: We all want that... →
keepingitintrospective: We all want that ideal person. The one who’s balanced.. You know goofy but knows when to be serious, so on and so forth. Someone with self respect, good morals, and standards for themselves and who they’re dating. But it’s slim pickings these days. Maybe I’m too old fashioned, which is why they… OMG THIS!!!!
feet soaking as the sun reads over my shoulder setting words ablaze
poettc asked: thanks for following i hope you enjoy the page
fuckyeah1990s: Ross Geller invented dubstep.
To truly know God we must long for Him without any other motive than reaching...– AW Tozer (via deebella123)
line by line I seek the ancient wisdom hidden between these pages
I am a hard person to love but when I love, I love really hard.– Tupac Shakur (via theruthlessvillain)
biggboldbeautifulbrightblessed replied to your post: Sometimes I feel like I’m getting on people’s… LIKE AWAY!!! anyone who gets annoyed needs to get off tumblr lol Heyyyyyy girlie, I haven’t seen you on here in while. Love ya!
Sometimes I feel like I’m getting on people’s nerves when I like EVERYTHING that they post lol. I mean I know that’s what tumblr is for but sometimes I just feel weird about it, like a stalker or something.
drink in the night air pop a few stars and never plan to recover
sayitreallyfast replied to your post: I bet…. It’s sad that our blogs started showing what we like rather than why we like it or how it makes us feel. So we hide in drafts :P. exactly!
there are amazing pieces of poetry and prose saved in people’s drafts, pieces that people are to afraid to share. I’ve also noticed that the pieces that people are too afraid to share are always the best ones.
She went down like a hard scotch, a taste he hadn’t quite acquired yet but he was learning. His throat slowly adjusting to the burn and no matter how it burned he always kept drinking. Burying his sorrows underneath unfamiliar sheets. In the morning after he’d had enough he always discarded them on empty streets, broken in pieces ready to cut at the feet of the next passer by.