The biggest lesson I’ve learned is, ‘It’s okay.’ It’s okay for me to be kind to myself. It’s okay to be wrong. It’s okay to get mad. It’s okay to be flawed. It’s okay to be happy. It’s okay to move on.

— Hayley Williams (via travelhikepsych)
fierocity:

imyobabyy:

lady-medic:

In case anyone wanted to know what a lightening strike can do to the body- given that they survive.

Woah

I’ve reblogged this before but I didn’t know it was from a lightning strike. That’s insane.
lusidar:


No processing. This was how it looked. The sun was just behind a very large lenticular/cirrus formation, causing this unusually bright halo. I took way too many shots. I’m only posting this one. Must see large to enjoy all the subtle color striations. This may be a circumhorizontal arc, not positive tho.

source

People who are meant to be together will always find their way back to each other. They make take detours in life, but they’re never lost.

— (via ohlovequotes)

I vaguely miss you. I say vaguely because it’s been so long since I had you, that I don’t know if it’s you I really miss. It could very well be a dream version of you and I, a vision created in my mind, a pieced together promise of happiness that is not you, or I, or anyone else. I vaguely miss the best parts of what we had, and I know there must have been bad, but I can’t recall.
What I do know is that I write poetry about the smallest parts of who you are. I’ve written about your hands and the scruff on your face and the anger in your heart and the freckles that fall on your shoulders like well-water snowflakes.
You know how when you curl your toes upward toward your too-long shins, a divot something like a coin deposit in a Vegas slot machine appears right in the middle of your foot? You know how I made fun of you for it every time you took your socks off?
I wrote a poem about the pennies I would leave at your feet last night, like thousands of wishes thrown in a fountain too shallow to drown in, thinking it would change something.
You didn’t answer.
You’re too busy with her.

"Notes on Being a Punching Bag" by Yours, Darcy

Yesterday I wrote a poem called “Punching Bag.” Find it here.

(via writingistheremedy)

bl-ossomed:

prostituting:

desmond-the-creppy-bear:


The Unbelievable Photos Taken by the Crazy Russians Who Illegally Climbed Egypt’s Great Pyramid

people, you may never see an image like this again… so yeah, reblog it

Ya well I can’t blame them for climbing that
Just look at that incredible fucking view

amazing

starfetti:

مآ أجمّل أنْ تصمتْ
فيْ ؤجهْ منْ ينتظرْ منِك الخِصَام 

وما أجمل أنْ تضحك
فيْ وجهْ منْ يُنتظرْ منك البكـاءْ

How beautiful is it to stay silent
When someone expects you to be enraged from them.
And how beautiful it is to laugh
When someone thinks you are going to shed tears.

Intimacy is not who you let touch your genitalia. Intimacy is who you text at 3am about your dreams and fears. Intimacy is giving someone your attention, when ten other people are asking for it. Intimacy is the person always in the back of your mind, no matter how distracted you are.

— Unknown (via intensional)