I have wasted thousands of kisses on you. Kisses that I thought were special because of your lips and your smile and all your color and life. I used to think that was the real you, when you smiled. But now I know you didn’t mean any of it. You just save it all for your songs. Shame on me for kissing you with my eyes closed so tight.  —That Thing You Do (via waitingforteaagain)

:’)

thekidswont:

Totally how I operate.
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please.
cannibalutopia:

bit too relevant
nounousoul:

sin título by martha alem. on Flickr.


Ven a volar conmigo.
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!
Eventually something you love is going to be taken away. And then you will fall to the floor crying. And then, however much later, it is finally happening to you: you’re falling to the floor crying thinking, “I am falling to the floor crying,” but there’s an element of the ridiculous to it — you knew it would happen and, even worse, while you’re on the floor crying you look at the place where the wall meets the floor and you realize you didn’t paint it very well.  —Richard Siken (via slekes)