I Look At You And I Don’t Want To Admit That What We Were Has Died Somewhere, In Between Missed Messages

need someone to fuck me hard

me about to talk in public: *rehearses what im going to say 50 times in my brain*

me: today how you are

oh, i am finally old enough to know why my parents took so long to grab their coats. why they would ask us to get ready to go only to sit down for another round of coffee. what would i tell myself, at 10 years old? it’s okay. sit down with them too. take in the extra hour with your friend and her family. when you get home, write down every moment in your diary. one day you will be older and you will be waving goodbye to your best friend, and you will turn the key to start your beat up little car engine, and you will look back over your shoulder. her hair will be blowing in the wind and she will be beautiful and you will be, for a moment, struck by all of it. what you will feel is so wide and nameless that it will engulf you. and you will think of being 14 and kicking her under the table in math every time you wanted to whisper something behind the teacher’s back. you will think about how long the days felt. and how you could hold her hand whenever you wished, but you didn’t. and you will think about all of the people you could have lingered with. and you will wish, more than you have ever felt a wish, that the universe just gave you that - more time to linger. more time to say - i love you. i know i need to leave, but i don’t want to leave you. and when i go, i am leaving a piece of my heart that lingers too. 

one more round of coffee. the days are so short, and you are so lovely.

pet peeve: having to load the bowl again after you finish it

I wanna steal your socks for eternity

the best interview i’ve read was when someone asked michael cera what he’s most recognised for and he said “the social network. which i was not in" 

it’s 4:27 in the evening. it’s not a romantic time at all. the sun isn’t setting. nobody is going home to bed yet. nobody is waking up alone. it’s 4:27 and you’re on an express elevator going down and you feel the force of gravity as if it was sluicing up between your toes and without meaning to, as your stomach drops, you think of him. you think of roller coasters. you think of kissing him while both of your mouths are sticky with ice cream. you think of holding his hand in the back of a dark car, playing with his fingers for no other reason than to feel his skin brush yours. you think of cotton candy, of a burst of laughter, of the curve of his neck. you think of sighing against his shoulder, of his head resting on your lap, of city walks. the girl on the elevator with you asks, “are you okay?” you say you’re fine. “just got vertigo,” you explain. that feeling when you’re staring into a canyon and for a second, you know nothing is the same.

falling // r.i.d (via inkskinned)

soon you will be living in a great city, with friends that support you and understand you, learning and experiencing new things every day. you’re conversational in multiple languages and pursuing a field you love. maybe things are not okay now, but they will be. there are so many wonderful things to come.

Lured (1947) dir. Douglas Sirk