I love the rain. I love how it softens the outlines of things. The world becomes softly blurred, and I feel like I melt right into it.
I want to love, but my hair smells of war and running and running.
you ever thought that maybe the reason girls say they’re fine when they’re not, or they’re not mad when they are, is because the second they show any semblance of emotion they’re written off as hysterical bitches that are probably on their period?
THE DA VINCI CODE HAS BEEN CRACKED
Reblogging again, because this will never be irrelevant.