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Teddy Roosevelt’s diary entry from the day his wife died. He never spoke of her death again.

Teddy Roosevelt’s diary entry from the day his wife died. He never spoke of her death again.

(Source: threeoverten, via mala-educacion)

I dont know how to keep you.
I dont know how to let you go.
– (via betrunkene-seele)

(Source: askaboutnikki, via ystasce)

When it is but it aint


Some of us love badly. Sometimes the love is the type of love that implodes. Folds in on itself. Eats its insides. Turns wine to poison. Behaves poorly in restaurants. Drinks. Kisses other people. Comes back to your bed at 4am smelling like everything outside. Asks about your ex. Is jealous of your ex. Thinks everyone a rival. Some of us love others badly, love ourselves worse. Some of us love horrid, love beastly. Love sick love anti light. Sometimes the love can’t go home at night, can’t sleep with itself cannot contain itself, catches fire, destroys the belly, strips buildings, goes missing. Punches. Smashes heirlooms. Tells lies. The best lies. Fucks around. Writes poems, impresses people. Chases lovers into corners. Leaves them longing. Sea sick. Says yes. Means anything but. Tricks the body. Kills the body. Dances wild and walks away, smiling.

– Yrsa Daley-Ward (via yrsadaleyward)

(via ystasce)

Angry, and half in love with you, and tremendously sorry, I turned away.
– F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby  (via circumcising)

(Source: lokoprincess, via ystasce)

The thing about sadness is that it never warns you that it will come back. You’ll end up with an aching heart again, minutes after laughing, and it will feel like you found someone in your house; someone who you thought had left.
W.J (via cascadingletters)

(via anditslove)


Teddy Roosevelt’s diary entry from the day his wife died. He never spoke of her death again.

Teddy Roosevelt’s diary entry from the day his wife died. He never spoke of her death again.

(Source: threeoverten, via mala-educacion)

I dont know how to keep you.
I dont know how to let you go.
– (via betrunkene-seele)

(Source: askaboutnikki, via ystasce)

(Source: aishazamm, via dianasays)

When it is but it aint


Some of us love badly. Sometimes the love is the type of love that implodes. Folds in on itself. Eats its insides. Turns wine to poison. Behaves poorly in restaurants. Drinks. Kisses other people. Comes back to your bed at 4am smelling like everything outside. Asks about your ex. Is jealous of your ex. Thinks everyone a rival. Some of us love others badly, love ourselves worse. Some of us love horrid, love beastly. Love sick love anti light. Sometimes the love can’t go home at night, can’t sleep with itself cannot contain itself, catches fire, destroys the belly, strips buildings, goes missing. Punches. Smashes heirlooms. Tells lies. The best lies. Fucks around. Writes poems, impresses people. Chases lovers into corners. Leaves them longing. Sea sick. Says yes. Means anything but. Tricks the body. Kills the body. Dances wild and walks away, smiling.

– Yrsa Daley-Ward (via yrsadaleyward)

(via ystasce)

(Source: rufioslostboys, via ystasce)

Angry, and half in love with you, and tremendously sorry, I turned away.
– F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby  (via circumcising)

(Source: lokoprincess, via ystasce)

(via ystasce)

The thing about sadness is that it never warns you that it will come back. You’ll end up with an aching heart again, minutes after laughing, and it will feel like you found someone in your house; someone who you thought had left.
W.J (via cascadingletters)

(via anditslove)

"I dont know how to keep you.
I dont know how to let you go."
"

When it is but it aint


Some of us love badly. Sometimes the love is the type of love that implodes. Folds in on itself. Eats its insides. Turns wine to poison. Behaves poorly in restaurants. Drinks. Kisses other people. Comes back to your bed at 4am smelling like everything outside. Asks about your ex. Is jealous of your ex. Thinks everyone a rival. Some of us love others badly, love ourselves worse. Some of us love horrid, love beastly. Love sick love anti light. Sometimes the love can’t go home at night, can’t sleep with itself cannot contain itself, catches fire, destroys the belly, strips buildings, goes missing. Punches. Smashes heirlooms. Tells lies. The best lies. Fucks around. Writes poems, impresses people. Chases lovers into corners. Leaves them longing. Sea sick. Says yes. Means anything but. Tricks the body. Kills the body. Dances wild and walks away, smiling.

"
"Angry, and half in love with you, and tremendously sorry, I turned away."
"The thing about sadness is that it never warns you that it will come back. You’ll end up with an aching heart again, minutes after laughing, and it will feel like you found someone in your house; someone who you thought had left."

About:

Janet Lee, age 20. "I am fucking crazy. But I am free."

Following:

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