A girl currently busy discovering the world.

It’s funny how artistic we become when our hearts are broken.

—Hotel Books, I Always Thought I Would Be Okay (via aurelle)

(Source: notaweirdo, via sinnersandwinners)

Can we be wolves so we can travel where our paws take us, eat on the way, start a family, and never stray?

Can we be wolves so we can travel where our paws take us, eat on the way, start a family, and never stray?

(Source: wolfdogs, via sinnersandwinners)

Life, oh life

She slaps you right in the face and the sound is loud and the pain is real

And the next day

She caresses your cheeck and her touch is soft like velvet and she smells like roses

I wish I knew what to expect from her

I wish that the good days would balance the bad one

But she’s mystery and smoke

I walk in this mist and my eyes are red and I don’t know where I’m going


Oh, life

You are just a bitch with red lipstick that smells like flowers

But I love you, anyway



is about sharing life’s aventures


Never go on trips with anyone you do not love.


(via everydaydude)

(via bijan)

The air smells like the ocean tonight

My heels on

Your kiss on my lips

(the air smells like the ocean tonight, and I feel at home)

When I feel like I’m drowing

I reach for your hand

Don’t let me go, not yet, not ever

I will show you what’s inside

inside my locked heart

And we will be

free spirits in the wind

                                       You gave me a bunch of flowers

                                         and I dreamed about my life.

Despite what you’ve read, your sadness is not beautiful. No one will see you in the bookstore, curled up with your Bukowski, and want to save you.
Stop waiting
for a salvation that will not come from the grey-eyed boy looking for an annotated copy of Shakespeare,
for an end to your sadness in Keats.
He coughed up his lungs at 25, and flowery words cannot conceal a life barely lived.
Your life is fragile, just beginning, teetering on the violent edge of the world.
Your sadness will bury you alive, and you are the only one who can shovel your way out with hardened hands and ragged fingernails, bleeding your despair into the unforgiving earth.
Darling, you see, no heroes are coming for you. Grab your sword, and don your own armor.

—Unknown (via perfect)

(Source: starredsoul, via sinnersandwinners)