Horror → Castles

yall know what i like most about tis the damn season? how much it sounds like an argument. Like all of the 'hear me out's and the repeated justifications of calling her babe but only for the weekend, how this is the only person to truly know when she's actually happy and how it's the warmest bed she's ever known. Like yes I love this person but I can only justify spending two days with them before I go back to my real life.

As a child i already had a longing for a life that wasn't mine. I thought it was the future. Now i sit at my desk and there are sunbeams on the floor. I cry because they look like how they used to in our old living room when i was 5. I long for a past unlived, dreamt away, filled with hope for something that already happened almost unnoticed, but at least it was bathed in honey and sunlight.

Does anyone else while you're reading get through a really good/dramatic scene, and then you put your book down and like, act out the scene that just happened in your mirror and then sometimes you add on to it and create like this whole other plot then when you're done you pick your book back up and continue reading like nothing happened...? Just me? Okay.

1989 (2014)

I haven't visited a lot of places in my life, but I have walked almost every street in this world. You don't always need to go somewhere to be somewhere. Books can take you even beyond the horizons. That's why, read. Read until you are a space as vast as the sky, and every idea, every notion, every opinion, is just another star in your sky. Read until you find out the key to liberation from every form of prison that you will encounter in this lifetime.

Sabina Yesmin

eu não posso ser sua amiga, porque a intensidsde dos meus sentimentos me machucam. Você não é amigo. Você é amor.

evermore as an old storybook

@taylorswift @taylornation ♡

part 1 | part 2 | twitter

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Spilled coffee on old letters written to old friends. Half burned pages left on the table. Listening to soft nostalgic music with a wicked smile. Sitting near the rear window while it rain at 3 am. Not shivering to the thunderstorms sound. Candle burning near the table when you type yet another aching poetry lines. Perfect distortion. Perfect melancholy.

It really drives me insane that I don’t know how people feel about me. Like am I nice??? Am I funny???? Am I mean???? Am I rude??? Am I obnoxious??? Am I dumb???? What am I????????????????????