keeksbohemia:

extrasad:

5 boys I fell in love with 

@keeksbohemia

Thought about this post a lot after I saw it for the first time

(via dammitkelsey)

Women like me do not fall gracefully,
we stumble over our spines, trip over
our vowels, and collapse into your arms.

Our hearts are open books,
Russian novels containing fifty pages
on the way your voice drifts across
the telephone wires each night.
Our hearts are first drafts,
unedited verses about each and every
person we have ever loved: the stranger
on the subway, the girl who gave us a balloon,
the boy who stole our virginity
but not our heart.

Women like me will love you from a distance
of a thousand syllables while laying in your bed,
we will destroy you in the most beautiful way possible,
and when we leave you will finally understand
why storms are named after people.

Intimacy is not who you let touch your genitalia. Intimacy is who you text at 3am about your dreams and fears. Intimacy is giving someone your attention, when ten other people are asking for it. Intimacy is the person always in the back of your mind, no matter how distracted you are.
The capacity to be alone is the capacity to love. It may look paradoxical to you, but it’s not. It is an existential truth: only those people who are capable of being alone are capable of love, of sharing, of going into the deepest core of another person—without possessing the other, without becoming dependent on the other, without reducing the other to a thing, and without becoming addicted to the other. They allow the other absolute freedom, because they know that if the other leaves, they will be as happy as they are now. Their happiness cannot be taken by the other, because it is not given by the other.
Osho (via psych-facts)

(via eletheowl)

Barcelona, Spain

(via loveyourchaos)

I know you’re not here, I can see it in your eyes when we talk. Where ever you are, come back soon.
Iain Thomas, I Wrote This For You (via loveless-people)

(via eletheowl)

We waste so many days waiting for weekend. So many nights wanting morning. Our lust for future comfort is the biggest thief of life.
Joshua Glenn Clark  (via her0inchic)

(via flairey)