Atelophobia

II IX XII

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"I can’t help but feel that sometimes everything is just an illusion and nothing is as serious at it seems."

zodiacsociety:

- Pisces @zodiacsociety_

(via dulldrops)

The most sober thing a drunk person could say  (via bl-ossomed)

(Source: whispering-secrets-and-smoke, via nachthungrig)

Nobody drinks a bottle of vodka for fun, and that’s a damn fact.

extrasad:

A list of things laced with you

1. my record player: Every time I look at it I see you sitting on my bedroom floor smiling while the tips of your fingers lick the edges of my records. My Bright Eyes album is still pressed against the needle where you left it. I know it was your favorite. I haven’t touched it since you left.

2. The sweatshirt you left at my house: It was a little too big and you used to pull the sleeves over your hands when you were nervous. I still wear it when I miss you. I’ve slept in it every night this week.

3. coffee: you kissed me, tongue dripping in black coffee. You always had a cup or three in the morning. It left you shaky. It left me in love. The smell makes me dizzy. I’m sorry I called you last night

4. The tattered old blanket I’ve had since I was little: you used to wrap us both in it when I was sad. It’s stained with tears and the feeling of your arms around me. It feels like the way you used to kiss my forehead. I’d rather fall asleep freezing than touch it. I wish I could still touch you.

5. My camera: It’s still filled with pictures of you. I’ve missed out on so many sunsets because if I turn on my camera I’ll see you and I think if I see you I’ll die. 

6. My voicemail: you left me a message 4 months ago telling me you missed me. i can hardly remember what your voice sounds like but it plays in my head all the time. My voicemail is full. My mother can’t get ahold of me but if I go through my messages I’ll listen to yours and it’ll hurt worse than anything. You still hurt worse than anything.

7. The plant in the corner of my kitchen: I could never remember to water it so you always did it for me but you haven’t been around. It’d dying. Maybe I am too. 

8. The fucking stars: You used to make wishes on stars. I feel like throwing up every time I look at the sky but I can’t stop wishing for you.

9. your notebook: you left it on my desk. You used to write when you couldn’t sleep. Most of your poems were about me. I wonder if you write about her now. Sometimes I can taste my heart breaking. 

(via diese-welt-ist-perfekt)

Jaide Scott (via )

(Source: thejaidescott, via sekundenbruchteile)

Sometimes I think I’ve said all the right things to the wrong person.

dieser morten (via glitzerpenis)

Zwischen uns knistert es wie ein großer Joint.

6 word story (m.s.)

(Source: theoceansarecalmhere, via impetuousss)

I shut down to protect myself.

if u dont eat girls out but you expect head ur a little bitch

(Source: cooldude10000million, via lukeriver)

The six stages of falling in love with her. // by rb  (via splitterherzen)

(via sekundenbruchteile)

One.
You see her for the first time and she’ll walk right past you like you are a crack in the wall and she is a skyscraper with her head so high in the air and when you can’t sleep you’ll think about the way her eyes strayed into yours for a moment too long before breaking away and disappearing into the crowd of people.

Two.
She’ll look both ways before telling you she loves you under her breath and when she hugs you her eyes scan the empty room as if the walls had eyes and ears and mouths that could give you away.

Three.
When she’s curled up on your lap shaking with mismatched breaths you’ll wonder how someone who looked like she carried mountains on her shoulders could crumble so easily in your arms like the tornado in her mind finally hit her and knocked her off her feet.

Four.
In half-light she’ll run her fingers over your arms like she is reading words carved into your skin, binding them together into the perfect metaphor and you’ll hear it playback in your head at 4am when your head runs wild with thoughts of her.

Five.
You’ll find a safe haven on rooftops and abandoned rooms where she’ll set fire to your insides with hushed breaths between kisses planted perfectly on your lips and make you wonder how dangerous it is to play with wild flames while your body is made of paper.

Six.
You’ll stare God right in the eye and tell him that if loving her was a sin then you want no place in heaven with him because the way her lips fit perfectly on your neck is a type of paradise you’ll never forget.

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