Ricky

sevrdsaint:

steve jones - sex pistol

Notes
1
Posted
4 hours ago

Nancy Horan, Under the Wide and Starry Sky  (via paintdeath)

(Source: quoted-books, via sleepwalkingskylar)

In the end, what really matters? Only kindness. Only making somebody a little happier for your presence.
Notes
5215
Posted
5 hours ago
funoftheday:

I’m super cereal right now.

funoftheday:

I’m super cereal right now.

Notes
5
Posted
8 hours ago
humansofnewyork:

"We got engaged an hour ago. We were on a rooftop, and I told her I wanted to take a time lapse photo of her looking off the roof, then when she turned back around, boom.""Were you nervous?""I was more nervous when I had lunch with her parents to ask for permission. I couldn’t bring myself to ask, and actually had to call them back to the table after they’d gotten up to leave."

humansofnewyork:

"We got engaged an hour ago. We were on a rooftop, and I told her I wanted to take a time lapse photo of her looking off the roof, then when she turned back around, boom."
"Were you nervous?"
"I was more nervous when I had lunch with her parents to ask for permission. I couldn’t bring myself to ask, and actually had to call them back to the table after they’d gotten up to leave."

(via angrybrucie)

Notes
6830
Posted
21 hours ago

It’s not that I don’t love you.  (via extrasad)

(via of-wildflowers-and-wings)

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the sound I heard when I was 9 and my father slammed the front door so hard behind him I swear to god it shook the whole house. For the next 3 years I watched my mother break her teeth on vodka bottles. I think she stopped breathing when he left. I think part of her died. I think he took her heart with him when he walked out. Her chest is empty, just a shattered mess or cracked ribs and depression pills.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s all the blood in the sink. It’s the night that I spent 12 hours in the emergency room waiting to see if my sister was going to be okay, after the boy she loved, told her he didn’t love her anymore. It’s the crying, and the fluorescent lights, and white sneakers and pale faces and shaky breaths and blood. So much blood.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the time that I had to stay up for two days straight with my best friend while she cried and shrieked and threw up on my bedroom floor because her boyfriend fucked his ex. I swear to god she still has tear streaks stained onto her cheeks. I think when you love someone, it never really goes away.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the six weeks we had a substitute in English because our teacher was getting divorced and couldn’t handle getting out of bed. When she came back she was smiling. But her hands shook so hard when she held her coffee, you could see that something was broken inside. And sometimes when things break, you can’t fix them. Nothing ever goes back to how it was. I got an A in English that year. I think her head was always spinning too hard to read any essays.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s that I do.

Notes
217140
Posted
22 hours ago
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