"If people were rain, I was drizzle and she was a hurricane."
View over New York City on the plane
sick picture
Everytime I see this when I fly back into the city my heart skips a beat and I feel like crying. I fucking love New York more than anything, I really do.
via 900-miles
Edgar Allan Poe (via aancre)(Source: lavandula)
via thescreenflickers
Holy mother of FUCK as if I’m only just learning this?!?!!?!?!
WHY AM I DISCOVERING THIS JUST NOW?!?!?!
(Source: sweet-is-evil)
via criticalmoments
zerl:
press alt and reblog
oh my god
why couldnt they tell me this earlier
via yourwordsmostlynoises
i pressed alt + reblog button
via lyrensiren
Somebody That I Used To Know (Gotye Cover) - Ingrid Michaelson
everything she touches turns to gold, I swear. this is perfect.
she performed at my school! she’s really amazing live!
(Source: godspellandgoodnight)
via turnnaroundbrighteyes
Tonight we are young. So let’s set the world on fire, we can burn brighter than the sun.
Late night;
Ever notice how you don’t remember the exact moment you fall asleep? You remember hitting the pillow, tossing and turning and thinking “God, I have to be up in…6 hours 47 minutes”. You can picture perfectly that little alarm clock on the bedside desk, ticking 3:24 a.m., flash, flash, flash. Even the noises around you, normally so silent they blend into the dull humming of your ear drums, can manage to keep you awake longer than humanly necessary. But you can never remember the moment you finally drift off, leaving all the troubles or joys or sorrows behind. I always wonder what that split second must feel like: one second you’re worrying about that cumulative calculus test you haven’t even begun to study for, the next you’re swimming in your deepest dreams, without a worry.
Sometimes, though, your dreams can scare you. They use your insecurities and best-kept secrets; they bring out the demons that lay beneath your skin. When those dreams do erupt to the surface, all you can wake up to is a stifled scream and a pool of cold sweat.
On the flip side, you could wake up from the best possible dream; wake up into reality and think “crap. here I am world, go easy on me.” That dream you had could have made you into a lovable, goofy, beautiful, intelligent superhero, or the friend-turned-lover, or any motley assortment of buried wishes.
What would you rather wake up from: an awful dream, thankful that it’s over, but terrified nonetheless, or a blissful imagining that sends pangs through your body as soon as you realize didn’t happen?
This one time I painted a living room with a girl.
This was a handful of years back. It was about eight months before the huge, flame-out of a breakup. That day, though? That day we painted the living room? It was pretty uneventful. We painted my parents living room for $50 between us and a pizza. That was it. I think we watched Anchorman or something after that.
But it still holds as on of the most indelible memories I have. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not still in love, it happened, it was good, it ended, and we’ve both moved on. But I’ll never forget that day. Because it’s never, in the long run, about the grand gestures. You can fly across the world and show up on her doorstep with a rose in your teeth and a ring in a little velvet box but I can guarantee you that - more often than not - she’s going to remember the time you built the birdhouse in the back yard, or what have you, a whole lot more.
Life wasn’t meant to be taken in large movements. The next day will inevitably arrive, you’ll sleep, and the moment will have passed. But when you have a hundred thousand small moments, you can step back and appreciate the picture a lot more than metaphorically blowing your load on some grand moment that, in all honesty, look, you’re not Bruce Fucking Springsteen, you’re not going to be able to blow everyone’s mind every single night. You’re not Romeo and/or Juliet. There’s no reason to drink the poison together in some flame-out gesture. So that leaves us with the small stuff. It’s all about the detail.
That’s what love is. Attention to detail.
And the moment will end. And then things will get boring. And it might get a little quiet. And it might all end horribly. And you might hate eachother at the end. And you might walk away from eachother one day and never speak again. But that’s just how it goes.
But she’ll remember the time you held the door open for her on your first date.
She’ll remember the time you laughed at her impression of the landlady.
She’ll remember the time you stayed up all night that first time.
She’ll remember the small things a lot longer than the big ones.But everything ends. And I’ll tell you why you have to make the small things, the small moments count so much more:
One day, probably a while longer from now, when old age takes ahold of someone, she might just only remember your smile. Everything you ever did together, every second, every moment, every beat, every morning spent in bed, every evening spent together on the sofa, all of that - gone. Everything you ever did will be reduced to the head of a pin. She won’t remember your name. She’ll just remember your smile, and she’ll smile. She won’t know why. It’s a base, gut reaction. But she’ll smile, uncontrollably, and it will come from somewhere so deep as to know that you touched her on a primal, honest, and true level that no scientist, scholar, or savant could ever begin to explain. There is no more. There is nothing else. There is just this: She’ll remember your smile, and she’ll smile.
And you know what? That’s all that really matters in the end.
Arguably the most beautiful thing I’ve ever read on tumblr.
i think i may love nothing more than this.
I feel girly for posting this, but I like it. Judge me.
wow, perfect.
via snuge007
