hellanne:

Long evenings in my little room. (by laura makabresku)

captn-bucky:

bellecosby:

I wonder how many stranger’s stories we make it into? You know, maybe someone saw you in passing and told their friends about how pretty the girl in the lavender sweater was. Or maybe they overheard you say a joke and repeated it to their friend, confessing that they heard it from some guy at the store. 

I think about this all the time

“I dream of a language whose words, like fists, would fracture jaws.”
- E.M. Cioran, “Strangled Thoughts,” from The New Gods  (via thatkindofwoman)

(Source: uhhhhhhhhhhhhhh)

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