"a man came up to me today,
looking for antiques.
he asked me if i had anything
that i left to rot for weeks.
he asked if i had something
that i want to use but won’t,
something i still find value in,
when other people don’t.
antiques, he said, were started from love
then forgotten and covered in dust,
and although it wasn’t our intention,
it still happens to the best of us.
he said antiques are things that can
be passed down through generations;
and here i was, seconds away, from selling him our old conversations."
holidays nowadays are just excuses to party. tell me who st patrick is. name 5 of his songs
Everyone in Ireland hates your guts
can i download that on itunes
nobody tells you how sharp love is,
how it feels like a chord snapping and curling up
on the e-string of a violin,
how it means walking on the eggshells you
just used to make your favourite dessert,
and waking up gasping for air every morning with
that pain underneath your rib cage thinking,
this is it, this is the end
nobody tells you how hard love is,
all cracking bones and pounding skulls and
espresso shots and crooked fingernails and
knocking on each other’s walls with bloodied fists,
trying to break them down, but really asking gently
let me in, let me in, let me in,
i would belong here if you let me, let me in
nobody tells you how tough love is,
like sandpaper scrubbed across the back of your
eyelids as you struggle to stay up just to keep
talking to them,
like sore muscles and stiff jaws from having
to restrain yourself from grabbing them by the
shoulders and shaking them while you scream,
can’t you see i would do anything for you,
can’t you see i don’t want to live without you
nobody tells you how bright love is,
like staring into the sun even though you risk
going blind and your eyes are watering and burning
but you can’t stop because it makes art underneath
your eyelids, like your screen turned up all the
way in the middle of the night, like the hot
blue burst of a flame or a firework as you realize,
maybe this is for real this time,
maybe this is the best day of my life
nobody tells you how love is,
because it feels like cool hardwood floors
on the soles of your feet on a hot summer morning
and it feels like morning breath that actually
smells good and it feels like turning on
the radio to your favourite part in the only
okay song that plays seven times a day,
and it feels like throwing out all your papers
on the last day of school and it feels like
relief, relief, relief
but nobody told me how love was,
all go, go, go and don’t look behind you,
and pretend your past was never your past
because i saw people as pools
too blistering hot to dip your toes into,
i saw people as palms
constantly reaching to lay themselves on you,
and i woke up alone and the pillow next to me
had forgotten the imprint autograph
of your head and i touched my
burning lips and i thought,
this is it, this is the end
And this is it by k.p.k
when the supporting cast is more interesting than the main character of a series
are girls still pretending they don’t masturbate?
I dunno, is society still teaching girls that anything related to their genitals is dirty and impure?
do you ever cry when you think about Niall’s old wallpaper
“this white boy is cute as hell..here take my number”
I remember when I first made this post, the girl in the picture saw it and messaged me saying those were her exact thoughts
Nicki Minaj is the best.
I like how this barely has any reblogs/likes, but let it be her yelling at someone or defending her self against some snide remark from another celebrity or her going on a rant and it would have 10x the amount of reblogs with nothing but hate in the comments section.
This is why I fucking love Nicki.
Which sexual position produces the ugliest children?
Ask your mom.