I believe in you and your ambitions.

But I do not believe in “us”
anymore.

(Source: nevver, via rustyvoices)

Lunch date w/ the bae. #hewontleave #chicago #hancock #weareprettyserious #bae #bird #babybird

Lunch date w/ the bae. #hewontleave #chicago #hancock #weareprettyserious #bae #bird #babybird

Our love is dead but without limit like the surface of the moon #supercloud #riskmanagement #brighteyes #chicago (at University of Illinois at Chicago)

Our love is dead but without limit like the surface of the moon #supercloud #riskmanagement #brighteyes #chicago (at University of Illinois at Chicago)


Mascara, 1917

Mascara, 1917

(Source: unicornbattleship, via carolinchenmarinchen)

ugly:

ONE WATERMELON FRESH FROM THE MANURE FIELD YOUR SPOOKYNESS

ugly:

ONE WATERMELON FRESH FROM THE MANURE FIELD YOUR SPOOKYNESS

(via carolinchenmarinchen)

nubbsgalore:

images by seb janiak, which he creates by layering several photos on top of each other. (see also: previous cloud posts)

(via carolinchenmarinchen)

"The coldest day of the year
was warmer than I expected. I have forgotten
the order of seasons, traced your name in the sky
to watch the mist unwrite it. You must have seen this
coming, the letters you’d send me, the silence
I’d return."

— Annelyse Gelman, “Illusionist,” published in Nailed Magazine (via bostonpoetryslam)

(via rustyvoices)

"

You’re not doing well and finally I don’t have to
pretend to be so interested in your on going tragedy,

but

I’ll rob the bank that gave you the impression that
money is more fruitful than words, and
I’ll cut holes in the ozone if it means you have one less day of rain.
I’ll walk you to the hospital,
I’ll wait in a white room that reeks of hand sanitizer and latex for the results from the MRI scan that tries to
locate the malady that keeps your mind guessing, and
I want to write you a poem every day until my hand breaks
and assure you that you’ll find your place,
it’s just
the world has a funny way of
hiding spots fertile enough for
bodies like yours to grow roots.

and

I miss you like a dart hits the iris of a bullseye,
or a train ticket screams 4:30 at 4:47, I
wanted to tell you that it’s my birthday on Thursday
and I would have wanted you to
give me the gift of your guts on the floor, one last time,
to see if you still had it in you.

I hope our ghosts aren’t eating you alive.
If I’m to speak for myself, I’ll tell you that
the universe is twice as big as we think it is
and you’re the only one that made that idea
less devastating.

"

Small, Lucas Regazzi (via avvfvl)

Dear warrior

(Source: 1000scientists, via rustyvoices)