(Source: tawnting, via uncoverinq)
"I love her and that’s the beginning and end of everything."
F. Scott Fitzgerald about Zelda Fitzgerald in a letter to a friend dated Febuary 1920 (via larmoyante)
(Source: harrietleemerrion, via dorothealouise)
(via loveyourchaos)
i don’t give blowjobs i give blowcareers
(Source: rupaulvevo, via hairynuts11)
(Source: aboutt-a-girl, via hairynuts11)
why would you shatter somebody like me
(Source: positiveheart, via uncoverinq)
i just came back from an indonesian island with one of my best friends and two strangers
frivolous thoughts have been crossing my mind for the past few months amongst the spiritually pressing ones (that really only occur when i’m reading c.s. lewis) and i seem to have been convincing myself that this will pass, and soon, i will turn to the reservedness that used to inhabit me and that is and should rightfully be more fitting to the definition that i give myself. but thanks to - god forbid that i admit this - one thoughtcatalog article, i thought maybe i’ve come to forgetting about finding things, words and a persona to “accurately represent me” as i’ve always fretted about. i don’t quite know. too often i think to strike the balance between the denomination of a cosmic entity that i see myself and what others’ minds can conceive, moving forward to limiting to said “others” as only ones who have the capability to conceive in a way that commands my respect, and now i just think i’m too small to want to prove something, and i’m too inconceivable to insultingly believe myself to be all at once. “i’m too good for that, there’s a mind under this hat”, i don’t know, maybe. though i guess i’m not good at much when all i do is dismiss everyone.
