earthnation:

very strange how u can talk to someone everyday and still miss them

(via buckiebarne)

nymphoninjas:

nymphoninjas

officialbaio:

étudier….

etud…

etu…

et…

e…

d…

dor…

dorm…

dormir.

(via jeffersonshat)

benesmauglocked:

rj4gui4r:

iventuredfromminecraftia:

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Genius

As an English teacher, this made me weep tears of awestruck joy.

(via likevampirebanannas)

basemental:

please stop being cute it makes my heart sad because i can’t nap with you

(Source: poutling, via rosemoriarty1895)

Oh my God, what if you wake up some day, and you’re 65, or 75, and you never got your memoir or novel written; or you didn’t go swimming in warm pools and oceans all those years because your thighs were jiggly and you had a nice big comfortable tummy; or you were just so strung out on perfectionism and people-pleasing that you forgot to have a big juicy creative life, of imagination and radical silliness and staring off into space like when you were a kid? It’s going to break your heart. Don’t let this happen.
like
poeticasvisuais:

Head, Jean-Michel Basquiat, 1981
red-lipstick:

Édouard Goerg aka Édouard Joseph Goerg (French, b. 1893, Sydney, Australia) -  Le Livre de Job, 1946    Etching
I’m more honest in my poetry than to myself. That’s what I’m hunting for when I’m working away there in the poem. I’m hunting for the truth. It might be a kind of poetic truth, and not just a factual one, because behind everything that happens to you, every act there is another truth, a secret life.
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ƒ