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I read once that the ancient Egyptians had fifty words for sand & the Eskimos had a hundred words for snow. I wish I had a thousand words for love, but all that comes to mind is the way you move against me while you sleep & there are no words for that. Brian Andreas, Story People (via blakroq)

(Source: rabbitinthemoon, via nerdmeetsfitness)

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rockin’ it 😎

cough cough reblog my selfie cough


my mom always lets me mash the potatoes because it helps me deal with my feelings 

(via heyxxlolita)

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She was laughing even as we kissed and kissed again. There is no better taste than someone else’s laughter in your mouth. (via the-psycho-cutie)

(Source: parachute3s, via heyxxlolita)

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John F. Kennedy as a teenager.

oh my god


If titties dont make you happy i dont want to be friends with you.

(via heyxxlolita)

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Kush entirely too fucking loud





A black man rides a bus restricted to whites only, in Durban. In an act of resistance to South Africa’s apartheid policies, 1986.

look at their faces. upset that this black man dared to exist in their space

It’s sad how terrified he looks.

the fear in his eyes man :/ 

not even “their space”. Europeans invaded South Africa, separated Black people from their own country and dared to be aghast at their want to considered humans. This was just 28 years ago, guys!! 

everything you love is here



Anybody can look at a pretty girl and see a pretty girl. An artist can look at a pretty girl and see the old woman she will become. A better artist can look at an old woman and see the pretty girl that she used to be. But a great artist-a master-and that is what Auguste Rodin was-can look at an old woman, protray her exactly as she is…and force the viewer to see the pretty girl she used to be…and more than that, he can make anyone with the sensitivity of an armadillo, or even you, see that this lovely young girl is still alive, not old and ugly at all, but simply prisoned inside her ruined body. He can make you feel the quiet, endless tragedy that there was never a girl born who ever grew older than eighteen in her heart…no matter what the merciless hours have done to her. Look at her, Ben. Growing old doesn’t matter to you and me; we were never meant to be admired-but it does to them. Robert A. Heinlein (via realizes)

(via realizes)

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men who are artists love showing girls, who are so sad, so beautiful - girls crying in showers, girls with delicate bones curled into a fetal position. they want our eyeliner to run but never for our eyes to get puffy. they want our sadness but our anger isn’t pretty.

and they love us being girls - infantile, dependent on men. they love us when we’re broken so long as our pieces aren’t jagged.  

(via heyxxlolita)

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Why Hello There <3

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