(via 69honeybeez1)



Are you afraid because of how much you love me, or are you afraid because you know how much I love you?

Isn’t it fucking terrifying that no matter how many promises they made, no matter how long you’ve been together, someone can get up and walk out of your life without a second thought and you have to carry on living because the world doesn’t stop for any of us
Anonymous (via suchvodka)

(via keepit-together)


thatwetshirt:

Gone Girl (2014) dir. David Fincher

Love is the world’s inifinite mutability; lies, hatred, murder even, are all knit up in it; it is the inevitable blossoming of its opposites, a magnificent rose smelling faintly of blood. - Tony Kushner, The Illusion

(via matthew-saracen)


"Love suffers long and is kind, it is not proud. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things and endures all things. Love never fails. And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these, is love."

(via matthew-saracen)


Tell me all the secrets
that you have always
felt the need to keep
to yourself. Wrap your
words around the lines
of my palms; I promise
to always keep them
safe. If you let me,
I swear to love every
side of you that remains
unseen.
Mariah Gordon-Dyke (via lajoiedespetiteschoses)


She kisses like a sweet devouring, and I don’t know where to touch her because I want all of her.
John Green (via 69honeybeez1)

(via 69honeybeez1)


I could feel you brushing against me slowly and softly like a branch in the wind. And although I was lying perfectly still, I swear my heart was bound to beat out of my chest. When your body fell perfectly upon me, I swear it could have stopped. My ears drank in the whispering of your words like a child desperate for water as you told me to breathe. And all of a sudden, I could feel my hands forgetting the meaning of self-control. If time is a concept of moving forward, then this is the moment where I needed it to stop, because I don’t think there would be enough years in a lifetime for me to imagine wanting to be anywhere else.

Our wrists
Are not musical instruments
Even if the sound of flesh separating
Is soothing to the ear.

The blade
Is not a bow for you to pull
Back and forth (back and forth)
Until the red medley settles

Into the bone
Like sedimentary dust clinging
To the endless bottom
Of the sea.

Our muscles retain memory.
This is why my fingers
Always stutter
When my heart is hurting.

This is why the violin
I’ve made from dirty wrists
Will never be
A clean instrument.

I’ve tried making
The wrong music with my body,
And now nobody
Wants to look at me.

They tell me to keep my shirt on;
They tell me places to hide
The body knowing
It is still so very much alive;

Knowing that these claw marks
Are the marks of someone trying
So desperately to survive. Yes,
These marks are human in every sense.

They tell me to dispose of evidence.
I think this is their way of ignoring this.
Because they know, they know
What fighting for life feels like.

Maybe they are scared of confronting it,
Of someone noticing this part of them;
Of strangers hearing their own sullen tune
And suddenly finding the right melody.

Lorne Ryan, Sedimentary (via defense-mechanisms)

(via tristamateer)


"So, tell me about Ziva."

(via fuckyeahncisgifs)


(via 69honeybeez1)