Never make fun of someone’s passion because that’s the thing that saves them from the world.
live and let live
aspire to inspire (via misjudgments)

(Source: misjudgments)

vanitous:

looking at you makes me realize all the things that i’m missing in my life.

inkskinned:

what makes someone real? when i kissed her we both knew it was only for the night. a cut that would heal in the morning. a bruise to flinch about. when she kissed me we both knew it was because we are young and scared of heights. but it was real, wasn’t it? even if it was just for a second. or was it? did you mean what you said when you were too drunk to remember it or were you just playing around because you wanted to pretend. every time i think about us i wonder exactly what we’re supposed to be. was i a game to you. a replacement piece. something to hold you together until you could leave.

According to universal law the moment you stop pursuing and looking is the moment things will work out

Goals

letdownsnsellouts:

That guy that is mister fix it all but doesn’t even know it. The one that asks if he can wipe your glasses off for you and notices they’re stretched so he hands them back clean and fixed. The one that opens the door for you and holds you back before your knees hit the dash in his jeep. That guy that rigs everything in the house to work just right. The one that knows how to fix a broken window, snake a drain, AND clean the oven. That guy who notices a problem with your car and fixes it without even telling you. That guy that is big and tough to everyone but is melted ice cream to you. That guy who loves the sound of your laugh and constantly keeps you laughing no matter how silly you get. That guy that would spend the entire day cuddling the shit out of you when you’re sick in bed. That guy that cleans the house when he gets home an hour early. That guy who can turn you into a sexual beast by just giving you that look and lip bite. That guy that wrestles with you to get the last cookie. That guy that knows just how you like your hair pulled and ass spanked. That guy crosses the line with his jokes sometimes but always apologizes. That guy is smart, he is book smart and street smart. No one messes with that guy, he’s strong.That guy that can serenade you and does but only on occasion so it’s always special. He also loves to jam with his friends and even though you’re pitch deaf he asks you to sing along with him. That guy who sticks his head in between your neck and your chin because he likes the way your shampoo smells. That guy makes me wish I could be his girl. That guy is going to be an amazing dad and an even better husband. I am lucky to know that guy. I just wish he thought he was lucky to know this girl.

I still get butterflies when I see pictures of you

I’ve never felt more alive than when I was with you. But you found your way out and haven’t looked back at me. I don’t know how you have such a hold on my energy. I just want peace.

romanumeraltwo:

does anyone else get insanely romantically frustrated, like i know sexual frustration is a thing but sometimes i get super intense cravings for soft kisses or make out sessions or cuddling naps or things like that and it’s way more frustrating to me than sexual cravings

We talk a lot about love and yet we never seem to know enough about it. We make metaphors and construct rhymes to capture its essence but we never quite get it. It’s easy to write about it because it’s so common. And yet, in truth, none of us really know exactly what we’re saying. It’s a feeling, not a description. I could tell you that you make me feel like a rain forest, and you wouldn’t have a clue what I meant. Because in that moment, I wanted to tell you that you made me feel full, that every bone in my body vibrated to the rhythm of your voice, that life bloomed beneath every inch of skin you touched– but of course, there is no way to perfectly explain that, you cannot put feelings this big into words. But I still write poems about you. Everyone still writes them and I can pretend they are all about you but they will never amount to the real thing. I think a lot about words and language and the power that strums within them all and I put a lot of faith into what I say and create on the pages. But no matter the range I try, from 26 letters to over 50,000 characters, no amount of poetry in any tongue will be able to describe love the way I want it to. So sometimes, at three in the morning, I put my pen down and go back to bed. Sometimes that is the closest I can get to saying this is love and I am here for it. Sometimes all it takes is being next to you.
A conundrum about words and love and everything good in the world of a writer (via ink-trails)