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bevonc:

drawme-aheart:

ellosteph:

I don’t know anyone who has seen this on their dash and not reblogged it

my life is changed

the guy in the back tryna get up on it 
pixography:

Haris Rashid
👌
andreperron:

Koen Lybaert; Oil 2013 Painting “abstract N° 702”

It is a lonely feeling when someone you care about becomes a stranger.

Lemony Snicket, When Did You See Her Last?  (via sinkingmind)

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I don’t give a shit what the world thinks. I was born a bitch, I was born a painter, I was born fucked. But I was happy in my way. You did not understand what I am. I am love. I am pleasure, I am essence, I am an idiot, I am an alcoholic, I am tenacious. I am; simply I am…You are a shit.

Frida Kahlo, from an unsent letter to Diego Rivera. (via blindthoughts)

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It kills me how much I wanted it to work.
It tortures me how much misunderstanding there is. And there’s nothing I can do about it.
I’ve tried.
I’ve tried being quiet, I’ve tried being loud, I’ve trying showing you, I’ve tried writing it and painting it and singing it, I’ve tried touching you.
I just can’t believe the distance between our truths.

If we could just give each other the chance. If we could just understand. If we could just let go of the things that made us bleed and left us scarred.

But we can’t. There’s nothing we can do anymore. It’s just dead. It’s rotten and it’s decaying and I’m watching it happen angry and sad that no one stopped this from happening thinking it was just a beautiful thing that has become so morbid and toxic and…
It’s dying all over again in my eyes. I’m watching it die again and rot and the stench and the sadness and I’m alone in it.
Because your truth is so far from mine. I don’t even think you see or smell or taste or feel the same corpse, the same rotten fruit, the same decaying animal.

You can’t even see me mourning it. You won’t. And I hate you for that. And you’ll never understand why. And I hate you for not wanting to understand. And I hate watching it decay.

And you’ll never know. You’ll never see. You’ll never hear or smell of taste or breathe this.

Maybe if I pretend this was imaginary, It can be. Some morbid fairy tale. Maybe I can paint this right. Or write it beautiful. Maybe I can bury what I see and forget that I’m the only one.

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You’ve never let me be the person I am right now. Fuck you for that. Fuck you and whatever the fuck you’re going through.

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Sometimes, most of the time, I’m still in love with you. And sometimes I’m not. I’m sorry.

Always is a myth
And forever doesn’t exist.

Now,
Me.


P.s. Now is not yesterday, is not tomorrow, is not when we’re 52 or 15. Now is now.
That’s all I can give you. And all I can give is me, now.

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1: “Such a sexy beat”…

2: “it just drops it outta nowhere too…

it’s like a girl in a red dress.”

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