(Source: yoursorrowsnot)

No, I love you. Not like a sister loves a brother or like a friend loves a friend. I love you like a really drunk guy loves the best girl ever.

John Green, Paper Towns (via meandrouskismet)

Bewitched by Words

Bewitched by my words, you are fascinated, beguiled

By every syllable and I selfishly want nothing

But to capture just the right emotion to sway

Your mind, heart and soul, if possible I would,

Then keep you coming back for more each day

Crave for me, when I please but I will

Keep you waiting until midnight for I am capable

Of doing whatever my irrationality dictates:

Hasten the days into months or years

Or abandon reality when you wage a war,

A new dimension I give myself, then transform

This winter into summer or fall or spring and

To create forevers and inifinities and eternities.

Prolong your agony, torture you with promises,

Assert lies with greeting cards, songs and flowers,

Kill your dreams with mine, you are hopeless

A fool for mistaking this gentleness, you are

Denyingly shattered, unable to stand on your own

Because I can always apologize for breaking

That fragile heart which only demands my touch.

One caress and you are fine again, slave of my whims,

Kisses that weaken your reason, in silence you obey

And in me you find a phony quiet sanctuary:

A home protected by my arms during the cold night

Where you mumble your worries and doubts

But I listen with ears closed, with absolutely no intent

To understand your pain, I do not care, my darling.

Unfortunately, I just need you to amuse me,

Be my ecstasy to finish a book and write a prose

Unadulterated by inexpressible happiness.

Whenever I leave the bed the next morning

Seems a dream to me, I easily forget about it.

Spending the day away from me, you can’t help

Missing the only hands that save you, I dared

Pick you up gently and propel you away

Like an exhausted pencil that can’t be sharpened anymore:

Useless and tearless, condemned numb and longing

For your nonchalant partner who wears the mask

Of a prince charming and this is your fairy tale.

You have no choice but to search for me,

Cry for my name, plead for me to want you back

And stay with you until the stars hide again.

Don’t you know that you are my protagonist?

Oh how I love tragedies, an unending kind of ache.

Resigned to reveal a clandestine as I purposively

End this madness, I declare a fair warning:

Writers are dangerous lovers so be very careful,

Avoid engaging in lengthy conversations,

I may say the right words, I might as well try.

Somebody take me away from your territory

Because I really try my best to pretend that this

Is an emotionless love, an insincere affection.

Am I cursed with mine own destiny to have fallen

For you, my muse, a superbly challenging writer?

With a wink, you have stirred in me a desire

To organize a happy ending in the epilogue instead.

bluenouk:

Translation: I have sometimes the impression to wander around the world in the alone intention to accumulate the material of future nostalgias.

intoasylum:

I cannot stress enough the significance of these two sets/settings.

Stefan and Elena are standing pretty far apart. Their surrounding is nice and organized and clean. The environment around them is simple and it’s safe. But on the left you can see a shimmering light,  a hint of a flickering flame against the wall, dim and dull. Like there was once a fire there, but now it’s small and disappearing. Not completely gone. Like a memory.

Then we go to Damon and Elena, and everything’s different. The room is red and warm and cozy. The room itself has come to life. They are passionately kissing by a roaring fire, representing their love, as well as the fact that these two characters are quite frankly two twin flames. Twin flames that have now come together to ignite an all-consuming fire, like the one right behind them. Just like Damon said to her the first time they met: “You want a love that consumes you. You want passion. And adventure. And even a little danger.” Just like the burning fire behind them. Just like this moment. Just like their love.

But the 8-hour workday is too profitable for big business, not because of the amount of work people get done in eight hours (the average office worker gets less than three hours of actual work done in 8 hours) but because it makes for such a purchase-happy public. Keeping free time scarce means people pay a lot more for convenience, gratification, and any other relief they can buy. It keeps them watching television, and its commercials. It keeps them unambitious outside of work.

We’ve been led into a culture that has been engineered to leave us tired, hungry for indulgence, willing to pay a lot for convenience and entertainment, and most importantly, vaguely dissatisfied with our lives so that we continue wanting things we don’t have. We buy so much because it always seems like something is still missing.

Your Lifestyle Has Already Been Designed (via commanderspock)

theniftyfifties:

Yves Saint Laurent surrounded by models as the new head of the House of Dior, 1958.

michaelfaudet:

Wordplay by Michael Faudet

Bed time with Cupid

lilydragonthegnome:

Chimes are swaying out a song
The fan drones in peaceful hum
Summer songs of evening birds
The cooling dusk whisper a sigh
With his last kiss and toddler hug
I can’t resist his goodnight cuddles

“We mistake sex for romance. Guys are taught that pushing a girl up against a wall is romance. Sex is easy; you can do it with anyone, yourself, with batteries. Romance is when someone you like walks into a room and they take your breath away. Romance is when two people are dancing and they fit together perfectly. Romance is when two people are walking next to each other and all of a sudden they find themselves holding hands, and they don’t know how that happened.”— John C. Moffi 

(Source: lovesmisery)

the-science-llama:

Reflection and Emission Nebulas
— Rho Ophiuchi Cloud Complex

Credit: Gerald Rhemann // Astrostudio

Hidden by a thick fog of fear and disappointment
And mighty trees bearing endless words
That never matter to anyone, anybody
Windows are covered with creeping vines
Blocking any beam of sunshine and does not
Permit the morning breeze to carry the aroma
Of a green, beautiful world full of blossoms.
It’s always locked, always closed.
During the cold night, the endless silence
Makes me feel the safest, secured but not unhurt
Feared deception more than the harsh sound
Of lighting that could end a life.
Books carry the roof made of umbrellas,
Unfinished paintings hang on the walls,
A treasure box in the midst of the deserted bed
Tells me that I can change the world,
Shed are tears hidden by smiles and laughter,
Ascribed are notes mixed with punctuations and emotions,
Kept are letters undelivered by the mailman;
There’s where I lose myself and be happy.
But one stormy day, a boy stumbled
At the front door of my heart.

sexceptional:

Jack wrote this, I only edited it :)