February 2012
thehandgunsfamily:
Your kiss is like the last inch left in the bottom of my slurpie cup. No matter what I just can’t get get get enough. And your touch is like a velvet whenever we lay entwined. All I can draw is blanks when trying to paint your portrait in my mind. It’s far to perfect far to flawless to be constructed by hands as shaky as mine.
“چه گرميم چه گرميم از اين عشق چو خورشيد
How warm are we from this love, like the...”
– Rumi (via absea)
1 tag
if she rolls a good blunt wife that bitch? fuck...
bl0winonmedicinal:
when she smokes and doesnt act retarted wife her
when she smokes and cooks for the both of you wife her
when she smokes and wants to smoke more wife her
when she smokes and wants to watch stupid shit wife her
when she smokes and rather stay in than go out wife her
1 tag
4 tags
And what happens when I run out of songs to illuminate your days? What happens when the words can longer describe your beauty? Then I will write you a melody in a language meant for only you and I. Then I release the bird song caged in my heart with the deafening sound of your quiet sighs.
“How did it happen that their lips came together? How does it happen that birds...”
– Victor Hugo (via realityintolerant)
all said or all lost
(via redlilith)
