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azntoo:

skindeap:

shakeitoffpickyourselfup:

aromaeus:

jshaath:

Please take one minute out of your day and watch this. It’s the ugly truth.

I hear no lies.

yoooo

I did not think she would go there but then she did I literally screamed YAAAAAASSSSS BITCH DRAG THEM LIKE YOU’RE TRYNA WALK A CAT

oh shit

(via distractme-please)

via jshaath

fuckyeahtattoos:

uhmaruh:timetravellingtimelord:theparadoxymoron:katiefab:cutebabe:

HERE’S THE LINK TO SOLAR FREAKIN’ ROADWAYS GUYS

image

Solar FREAKIN roadways

SIGNAL BOOST
8 days left.

(via jeunelionne)

She was laughing even as we kissed and kissed again. There is no better taste than someone else’s laughter in your mouth.

tallichet:


implosia:

rainuhhhh:

thisiscasey7:

forgott-en:

nedhepburn:

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.


I just cried at this

i’m now in tears.

This is the most beautiful thing ever.

Are you kidding me

tallichet:

implosia:

rainuhhhh:

thisiscasey7:

forgott-en:

nedhepburn:

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.

I just cried at this

i’m now in tears.

This is the most beautiful thing ever.

Are you kidding me

(via xavijlopez21)

the-quietblogger:

How can you not reblog this


By scrolling past it damn

the-quietblogger:

How can you not reblog this

By scrolling past it damn

(via lovelyjelly)

I am not made just for kissing. I am not made just for your hands. I can’t survive on just body heat anymore. I’ll die from it, from the lack of nourishment. The lack of poetry, of music, of dancing, of long walks and long conversations. I’ll die without someone who looks at me like I’m the single most beautiful thing they’ve ever seen. Who, even in a crowd, can’t take their eyes off me. Thinks I’m the prettiest girl in the group. In every group. Can’t resist putting their hands on me. Would rather go home and undress me than do almost anything else. No, not almost. Anything else. Finds me the funniest, the bravest, the most interesting. I’ll die if I don’t have it. If someone doesn’t want me more than everyone else. I’m not exaggerating. It’ll kill me. It already is; it’s a slow passing.

pradafied:

"Flowers for Fernando", Daphne Groeneveld photographed by Tom Ford for CR Fashion Book #4

pradafied:

"Flowers for Fernando", Daphne Groeneveld photographed by Tom Ford for CR Fashion Book #4

(via fashion-cd)

newvagabond:

artapparent:

Daughter finally stands up to her Dad.

The wife laughing in the background is fucking adorable fjlsdbfjkadsfadsfas

She’s just like, “Dad! Chill out. I got some shit to say.”

(via dopest-ethiopian)

policymic:

Watch: What Syria’s war would look like here

What would it be like if the U.S. was war torn like Syria? A new video by international NGO Save the Children imagines just that, through the eyes of a young girl:

The disturbing video features shots of the girl as she goes about her normal life over the course of a year. The video begins and ends with the child celebrating her birthday. Between shots, we see how her life changes dramatically as war ravages her country.

Follow policymic

(via girismytwinnyx3)

dopest-ethiopian:

moogly7:

queeniman:

qalbee:

wwhatevver-ampora:

myheartbeatsliketimpanidrums:

spacemen-and-laserguns:

MY GOD.

THIS SONG HAD BEEN COVERED BY ED SHEERAN. JOHNNY CASH, JACK WHITE AND LIKE EVERYBODY BUT NO ONE DOES IT LIKE THIS KID WITH AN IPHONE. 

YOU NEED THIS. MY. GOD. 

His VOICE.

I just fell in love. holy shit.

lolololol I sang this in middle school for a competition but nothing like this. Wow

om g

I love how he was only doing that to demonstrate the capabilities of the phone. Everyone else is in awed silence from his singing and he is like, “Isn’t my phone the bomb diggity?!”

That’s my husband right? Alright cool.

 
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