You Only Came Back To Me Because You Were Alone With No One Else And I Think The Worst Part Is I Almost

Basket Case

Girls like her were born in a storm. They have lightning in their souls. Thunder in their hearts. And chaos in their bones.

Nikita Gill (via quotethat)

Detour | San Pedro, CA | 2015 

I thought all you would ever be was  my 4 in the morning, but now you’re my 6 in the afternoon and it’s scaring me

6:07 p.m

If she writes, don’t date her. A woman who writes will pay attention to the small details, the little moments. She will start to memorize the curves of your shoulders and the crescents of your collarbones, the way your words hopscotch side to side when you’re nervous and melt together when pronouncing her name. She will see everything through the lenses of metaphors, analogies, and comparisons- saying things like how her coffee that morning reminded her of your eyes, or how she heard a song on the radio that reminded her of the first time you told her you loved her. And she’ll write, write, write. That’ll be what you like most about her. Although there will be nights you wake up at 3am to an empty spot on the bed, you’ll know it’s because she’s writing about how beautiful you looked with your eyes closed. Do not date a woman who writes, because she will understand how to read between the lines. She’ll notice the way you lick your lips when you lie and the way your finger twitches when you feel guilty. She would have read enough books to know where this plot is heading, and so when the relationship ends, you’ll be left with nothing while she will at least be left with the cruel inspiration of heartbreak. Those beautiful love poems she used to keep stashed away in your pillowcase will become replaced with toxic words and heartbroken verses. She’ll write about how your mouth began to taste like deceit and your love began to feel like lies. You’ll go from being her cure to being the poison in her veins. She will live on forever as someone who saw the world as colors and details, while you’ll live forever on as just the boy who broke her heart many years ago.

A.F // Excerpt of a book I’ll never write #75 (via her-minds-a-mess)

I am the writer and this is so true.

(via namedrop-natalie)

Fml I’m the writer that does this to girls.

(via yourxchinaxdoll)

Also the writer and I can confirm we do this

(via kmlind4)

Wooo, I’m relatable!!!

(via her-minds-a-mess)

Why is agony compared to art? For it is not art; the pain is a wreck that does not live up to the idea of wonderful masterpieces, flawless, painted from one’s own personal garden of rosy reds and lilacs. Pained expressions are eyes made of ships whom have flood, hearts sinking like an anchor and hair like sails. Who has the audacity to compare a sinking ship to the gardens and gates of a painting instead of torn devices and broken boards. We are the beauty in destruction my love, adore your crashing waves.

S.P. The Audacity of Gardens  (via stainedpoetry)