asdopeasthepope:

I got an arabic tattoo saying “I am my soulmate” The meaning behind it all is most people go through life trying to find their soulmate. I want myself to be my soulmate because in the end you are only left with yourself. Everyone leaves. I never want to base my happiness on someone else, that’s where I have made my mistakes and ended up hurt and broken. I can find my happiness from myself.  I believe that I am my soulmate, you have to love yourself first before anyone else loves you.

asdopeasthepope:

I got an arabic tattoo saying “I am my soulmate”
The meaning behind it all is most people go through life trying to find their soulmate. I want myself to be my soulmate because in the end you are only left with yourself. Everyone leaves. I never want to base my happiness on someone else, that’s where I have made my mistakes and ended up hurt and broken. I can find my happiness from myself.
I believe that I am my soulmate, you have to love yourself first before anyone else loves you.

Reblogged from west coast

maisiewilliams:

is there anything more disappointing than having something you love more than anything taken and twisted and distorted into something else, something quasi misogynistic and entirely boring, something that turns into a huge wank fest where the writers seem to be the only ones enjoying themselves, while the fans are dragged through the mud, but are too in love with the past shadow of what they once had to let go?

and by something, I obviously mean doctor who 

Reblogged from a monstrous she wolf
Reblogged from west coast
What if I told you I’m incapable of tolerating my own heart?
— Virginia Woolf, Night and Day (via volaream)
Reblogged from midnight and metaphors

Everything was a subtle accident.
Our love was reckless, our shoelaces untied,
the curtains all wrinkled with ketchup stains
and I lose fake eyelashes on the roof of your cheeks.

I just wonder, if I am ever
capable of loving someone again
without being afraid of seeing parts of myself
all broken, all torn, all ever yours, still.

Kharla M. Brillo, Confession X  (via pouvoires)
Reblogged from midnight and metaphors
coltre:

Time flows in a very strange way in the morning.

coltre:

Time flows in a very strange way in the morning.

I’m so used to it now. Throwing my body like an unwanted baggage
to a dynamite blasted corner. If love was a place, I knew exactly

where heartache was. It was where my knees were pressed
against my chest as though I’m receiving half a dozen

kicks for every lungful of air I take. It was where you kissed me
and you did not mean it, so my skin has running stitches

all over and underneath. And now I keep wondering if I was
ever whole in the first place, or if I was just the first

handmade blanket you found after escaping the fire that you started.
Tell me again how you ended up in my arms. Did you ran fast?

Did you ran after me? Or did you just manage to pass me by
so that you can leave just as easily? Tell me.

Was loving me an accident?
Was loving me an easy way out?

Kharla M. Brillo, I’m used to you leaving but I’m never used to you. (via pouvoires)
Reblogged from midnight and metaphors
You can hide memories, but you can’t erase the history that produced them.
— Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki, Murakami (via there-is-no-there-there)
Reblogged from An Existential Life

mostlyfiction:

He convinced me that I was
the only woman who could
make him believe in love,
allow him to feel it too.
He said when he looked into
my eyes he could see
constellations that have yet
to be discovered. And I
believed him. I gave him
the fuel to keep his impossible
metaphors alive. His tongue
tasted so sincere that I
mistook his poisonous words
for a hopeful kind of forever.

Reblogged from swallow the light