In Greek, “nostalgia” literally means “the pain from an old wound”. It’s a twinge in your heart, far more powerful than memory alone. This device isn’t a spaceship, it’s a time machine. It goes backwards and forwards, it takes us to a place where we ache to go again.

Don Draper (via yellc)

(via elegantescapism)

∞  06/04/12
2,525 notes
via saddest-summer

39. (June3)

Clouds engulf the night sky as I was lying there on the back patio listening to the neighbor’s bug zapper and a dog barking while my eyes focused on the only star visible but slowing dying from being smothered from cloud coverage, I just can’t stop thinking that you might be outside watching that star too.

#mine  #spilled ink  
∞  06/03/12

(via evolvingentity)

∞  06/03/12
9,451 notes
via debilitating

The funny thing about writing is that whether you’re doing it well or doing it poorly, it looks the exact same. That’s actually one of the main ways writing is different from ballet dancing,

John Green. (via gayerthanthe4thofjuly)

(via lynx)

∞  06/03/12
33 notes
via gayerthanthe4thofjuly

38. (June3)

Her couch smells like my grandma’s couch smelt

Back in grade school when she was sick, and

I would visit but grandpa couldn’t see and his hearing was off

“Sugar, I know you love this show”

But it was a cartoon about elephants

In Spanish.

“Gramps, I speak English.”

#Mine  #Spilled Ink  
∞  06/03/12
1 note

37. (June3)

These second-hand love songs are just ripping apart my insides using their chords to slash my lungs and stop my heart and I want to tune it all out but the pain is taking place of the other feelings that I don’t want to feel anymore.

#mine  #spilled ink  
∞  06/03/12

36. (June3)

I guess I’ve been looking in the wrong places to find out who I am because scrapbooks and tea cups aren’t going to sculpt me but ever since you came around I am molding easier, I can’t stop wondering if you are who you say you are; I want to tell you everything so you can tell me how to fix and improve perhaps fill the broken cracks and tape up the rips too, but I’ve tried that once and it didn’t work out as planned.

#mine  #spilled ink  
∞  06/03/12

Silence is only frightening to people who are compulsively verbalizing.

William S. Burroughs, The Job: Interviews with William S. Burroughs (via honeyforthehomeless)

(via bealotcooler-if-you-did)

∞  06/03/12
995 notes
via honeyforthehomeless

She was the kind of girl who could make you forget about a lot of things.

John Green, Paper Towns (via iamtough)

(via iamtough)

∞  06/01/12
502 notes
via meandrouskismet

35. (June1)

The coffee was still warm on my lips as I left the restaurant in a hurry knowing that the library closes in thirty minutes, but he stopped me out there in the rain and wind to tell me over text message “I miss you… alot” with terrible grammar and a will I know that would never give up even if I prayed it did; we weren’t meant to be together but he just can’t get that through his thick, unlistening skull. Everything was moving when I walked through the library doors dripping wet because I had stayed too long outdoors to read his text message, the floors are tipping side to side to make me fall to the ground but I keep my balance near the Young Adult books waiting for someone to come up to me and ask me to silence my thoughts because everyone could hear the screams coming from my head. I can still taste the bitter and cold, unsure if it’s the coffee or my heart.

#spilled ink  #mine  
∞  06/01/12
1 note
via morgan-gallas