raadioactiive:

last night :’)

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 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.

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

(Source: extrasad)

hoebama:

pretty girls who can pull off messy hair and no make up and have eyebrow game strong enough to kill half the population are a serious threat and i am afraid of them

residentevil2:

Life sometimes

(Source: doctorsatan)

fapoleon-bonerparte:

An Attack on Acre by Auguste Raffet, 1845

Vincent Van Gogh and yellow

(Source: jolieing)

paperseverywhere:

He’s never gonna live it down

A bit late, but happy birthday you doof.

"Good Morning"
“How was your day?”
“Be careful”
“Text me when you get home so I know you’re safe”
“Sweet dreams”
“How are you?”
“I hope you’re feeling better”
“Have a good day today!”
“I miss you”
“Good night”
“Can you come over?”
“Can I come over?”
“Can I see you?”
“Can I call you?”
“You’re beautiful”
“Want something to drink?”
“Watch your step”
“Let’s watch a movie”
“What are you up to?”
“How is your day so far?”
“It will be okay”
“I’m here for you”
“Do you need anything?”
“Are you hungry?”
“I just wanted to hear your voice”
“You just made my day”


You don’t have to hear “I Love You” to know that someone does. Listen carefully. People speak from the heart more often than you think.

Blocklava (via blocklava)
Anonymous whispered:
How do expect rights if you're not letting the majority of the population help you? Seriously.

fuckallies:

"haha why on earth should you get basic human rights lol you made a joke about straight people once lmao"

Even if
you slit my throat,
I’d thank you
for touching my skin.
Julia Pollacco - n-o-t-y-o-u-r-s (via perfect)