...but is that any reason not to enjoy the music?

A dying friend once told me, ‘I wish I hadn’t spent so many Mondays wishing it were Friday. I also wish I had made better use of those Fridays, for better stories on Monday.’

—A Wolf’s Thoughts (via flure)

(Source: wolfstravelsinmind)

http://theofficetimemachine.com/

Stop chasing after people who left you. Stop romanticizing the people who hurt you. It’s not poetic that you’re broken. You have got to stop glamorizing heartbreak, there is nothing beautiful about it. Begging, needing, loving someone so much that you can’t merely function without them is pathetic. You need to learn to fix yourself. Begging someone to stay will not make them love you. He isn’t going to sweep you off your feet like a Disney movie, he fucking destroyed you. Forget him like he forgot you. He’s not coming back to fix your damaged soul. I’m so sick of you pleading for his return, he destroyed you and didn’t look back. Your dependance on his presence is making me sick. He doesn’t love you so stop pretending he’s coming back because he’s not. He ruined you and you let him don’t you dare forget that. He’s moved on and it’s about damn time you did the same. Learn to love yourself or you will be this damaged, fragile soul forever. He can’t fix you, no one can but yourself. It starts now. Be your own damn hero.

—Things I need to remind myself (via unpoeticheartbreak)

(Source: englishsnow)


anuminous
:

Public Service Announcement from Megan Fox promoting Jennifer’s Body (2009)

Fuck yeah. Best PSA ever seen.

(Source: pattinson-mcguinness)

Do what you fear and fear disappears.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the sound I heard when I was 9 and my father slammed the front door so hard behind him I swear to god it shook the whole house. For the next 3 years I watched my mother break her teeth on vodka bottles. I think she stopped breathing when he left. I think part of her died. I think he took her heart with him when he walked out. Her chest is empty, just a shattered mess or cracked ribs and depression pills.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s all the blood in the sink. It’s the night that I spent 12 hours in the emergency room waiting to see if my sister was going to be okay, after the boy she loved, told her he didn’t love her anymore. It’s the crying, and the fluorescent lights, and white sneakers and pale faces and shaky breaths and blood. So much blood.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the time that I had to stay up for two days straight with my best friend while she cried and shrieked and threw up on my bedroom floor because her boyfriend fucked his ex. I swear to god she still has tear streaks stained onto her cheeks. I think when you love someone, it never really goes away.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the six weeks we had a substitute in English because our teacher was getting divorced and couldn’t handle getting out of bed. When she came back was smiling. But her hands shook so hard when she held her coffee, you could see that something was broken inside. And sometimes when things break, you can’t fix them. Nothing ever goes back to how it was. I got an A in English that year. I think her head was always spinning too hard to read any essays.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s that I do.

—It’s not that I don’t love you.  (via extrasad)

(Source: nosdrinker)

(Source: intercepti0n)

troyesivan:

its kinda scary when you waste an entire day doing nothing and time just passes

(Source: theresalune)