I’m not really sure how many times you need to think about something before you start to forget.
(via shes-elecktric)
(via beforeiloveandleaveyou)
I’m not really sure how many times you need to think about something before you start to forget.
(via shes-elecktric)
(Source: pushthemovement, via papastalinspizza)
(Source: synodik, via brokenheartdoll)
Creepin on the creephole. Best time of my life was living here. (Taken with instagram)
(Source: the-art-of-skulduggery, via theangrytherapist)
(Source: teachingliteracy, via carnalove)
(Source: observando, via liquidconfidence)
(Source: yunzi, via allthenight-tide)
(Source: theirgraves, via recklesstragedy)
I don’t know why, but I feel a relentless need to reconnect with everyone I used to know. I feel terrible that these friendships are entirely broken to a point where I feel more capable of connecting to dead relatives through prayer than an ex I gave my heart to for years and years and years and years that knew every nuance. Their graves exist on the internet and I can look up their new girlfriends and try to determine if they’re pretty/not pretty but that doesn’t get me anywhere worth being.
I miss being at Point Confluence in your old tan, beat-up Lumina. I miss running to Schnucks on 90 degree days with 100% humidity. I miss the intense, extreme, painfully-absolute love that we nursed and nurtured. It was so much deeper than anything I’ve felt since.
I can’t wish you back in my life, and I can’t invent a word for this empty hollow feeling of waxing nostalgic about how fucking much I miss feeling you and having you to myself.
She is so lucky she has you. She best not hurt you.