A writer is a world trapped in a person.
Victor Hugo (via dixonngreene)

(Source: maxkirin)

unclefather:

fall colors - black

winter colors - black

spring colors - black

summer colors - black

andrewgiraffields:

Lana Del Rey songs make me feel sad and nostalgic about things that haven’t happened to me

(Source: highgayden)

Smart girls are the overthinkers, the insecure ones, the different ones. They know what the real world is like. They analyze every little thing in life. Why? To avoid getting hurt. To find happiness. They stay up at night trying to think about every possible situation to get through all the problems. They think too much. They trust fewer people. Their insecurity proves their respect toward themselves. Of course they try to live away from a drama-filled life. Smart girls know their worth. Now those are the ones worth keeping by your side.
Unknown (via bl-ossomed)

(Source: lifeslittledejavus)


jazzmanisineffect:

Sometimes Finn and Jake display the most healthy and positive friendship I’ve ever seen and sometimes it makes me really happy that they don’t pull tropey bullshit and they have lines like this that show just how much they get each other.

(Source: thespoonmissioner)

The other day, someone asked me how old I was when I moved out of my parents house and I told them I was fourteen and they looked at me like I was crazy. When you’re fourteen you still need your mom to listen to you cry after you kiss a boy and he goes behind your back and kisses your best friend three nights later and you still need your dad to pick you up from school and give you money that you’re probably going to lose. But when I was fourteen I stopped talking to the girl I had been friends with since second grade. I never went downstairs when my mom called for dinner. I would lay on the floor for hours trying to feel something. I kissed four boys in one night because I wanted to know what love felt like but apparently it just felt like slimy tongues and sweaty hands grabbing at you. I handed in six homework assignments that year and my teachers called my parents in for a meeting but no one could get me to get the fuck out of bed and focus. I spent a few months tearing into my veins until I went too deep one night and found myself covered in blood and something else, probably the last bit of happiness I had left. When I was fourteen I think I disappeared. I lost myself one night trying to sneak out the window to buy drugs from the boy next door and I never really came home. I was fourteen when I moved out.
(via cybergirlfriend)

(Source: extrasad)