Snapshot of my mother’s garden. It is so beautiful in the warm afternoon sun today.

James Baldwin  (via eatcakey)

reasons why james baldwin is my favorite writer and one of my favorite humans.

(via exceptdissent)

Relevant.

(via speekeasy)

I peered through the bars of my rib cage at the bleeding, pulsing, stubborn handful of muscle it contains and made myself a promise to be more honest with myself and others.

I’m tired of martyr-ing myself only to be called a doormat in place of appreciation.

I want to point at old walls and say “that’s where you told me that my skin mattered,” but I’ll as likely learn forgiveness as I will ever see those walls again.

I had meant to brush my fingers across an ink promise one last time but it appeared you had outgrown the need for linens and it was nowhere to be found.

Listen very carefully: I am not a contortionist anymore.

l0serkids:

fapppuccino:

want plz

excuse me matt come back 2 me

Yes please

Not enough of the men in my sex life have realised how insanely hot it is to have somebody eat you out through your panties. There’s always such a rush to get them off or pushed aside. Slow down.

Ladies, thoughts? Is this just me?

(via smittenshit)

everythinghasadifferentname:

You don’t really want a girlfriend. 

You want to be chaste for the next month or three so you stop basing your self worth on how dateable you are.

You want someone to fuck sometimes, to wake up next to, to schedule a lazy Sunday with, to drink whiskey with, to read a book in a bar with, to sing you to sleep, to pull her hair, to scratch your back, to send dirty pictures to your phone, to say fuck and shit and goddamn. 

Most of all you want her to say you’re her favorite.

I love the pet name ‘my favourite.’ as in shouting “will you please make me a coffee, my favourite?” from the shower while your favourite bustles around the kitchen on a tuesday morning.

I miss that.

jerakeenc:

HUMAN! CAN’T DO IT MYSELF! HELP!

(via incipient)

blein:

sO my friend’s dog died and she lives in new york city and so she had to take it to the vet by the subway and she put the dead dog in the suitcase on the subway and it was a pretty big dog and some dude saw that she was struggling with the suitcase so he asked if she needed help with it and he said do you mind me asking what’s in it and she didnt want to say a dead dog so shE SAID IT WAS A BUNCH OF LAPTOPS SO HE TOOK THE SUITCASE AND RAN AND I JUST 

I know someone who SWEARS this happened to a friend of his. I mean, some of the details are switched around to make it perth-centric and his story was way better told/more convincing but it’s a shame this turns out to be nothing more than a widely spread urban legend.

(via sicklittlegame)

It doesn’t mean what you want it to mean, but it means more than nothing.

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This gave me shivers.

This is how I have been loved and it is not the sort of thing you will ever be able to go back from.

(via thespacegoat)

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Mother’s day dessert. The Gibbs sister team. The mi cuit chocolat is mine, Alicia was director of operations on the salted caramel macaroons.

coooode:

And that’s the most frustrating thing about depression. It isn’t always something you can fight back against with hope. It isn’t even something — it’s nothing. And you can’t combat nothing. You can’t fill it up. You can’t cover it. It’s just there, pulling the meaning out of everything. That being the case, all the hopeful, proactive solutions start to sound completely insane in contrast to the scope of the problem.

It would be like having a bunch of dead fish, but no one around you will acknowledge that the fish are dead. Instead, they offer to help you look for the fish or try to help you figure out why they disappeared. 
(x)

You know when you read something that’s so accurate that you don’t know how to words?
Yeah.

(via nstarrr)

who do you have the strongest connection with?, he asked.

i paused for a moment to look like i was thinking about it.

well that’s easy, i told him.

it’s you. it’s always been you.