"I laugh when I think about how little I mean to you and how much I needed to mean to you when I was sixteen and clutching a bottle of Rubinoff to my chest on the floor of my bathroom afraid to drink it, afraid to taste you, back when I use to think nothing would be the same without good morning texts from you, how naive I was, I didn’t know how hard life would get and God I probably still don’t and I’m sure someday I’ll look back to the nights of eighteen when I snuck out of too many boys beds, forgot too many names, carved too many notches into my bed post just to feel something again, and I’ll wonder why I thought I had it so hard."  - (via weallwritealong)

"This is the history of fuck you for

making me soft, for making me maleable,

for doing more than just testing my waters,

fuck you for making the oceans of me

feel so puddle at the sight of you.

This is the history of my mattress,

that has seen more mistakes

than I am sober enough to remember.

This is another man’s neck

and your name whispered against it.

This is not forgetting. This is trying to.

This is not enough ways to give up

as I thought there would be, only the one

with your caller ID and a hangover.

This is the history of love.

This is a rare thing, a history

written by one who did not win."  - Ramna Safeer, Written by the Winners (via larmoyante)

(via lifelazymi)




*watches a movie*
*sees a dog*
me: if something happens to that dog I sWEAR TO GOD

"Egal was die Leute sagen, ich bin treu wie ein Schwan."  - Swiss (via kriegsverbrecherinzwangsjacken)



Mateus William