Why are my flowers dead?

Call me Chrys. I adore chocolate, nirvana, arctic monkeys and i obsess over books. (Curly fries are better than straight ones).

It wasn’t that long, and it certainly wasn’t the kind of kiss you see in movies these days, but it was wonderful in its own way, and all I can remember about the moment is that when our lips touched, I knew the memory would last forever.

— Nicholas Sparks (A Walk to Remember)

(Source: slapping, via slapping)

monobeartheater:

verylittlebird:

a magician asks you to pick a card - any card, in fact. you do. they ask you to put the card back in the pack - anywhere in the pack, in fact. you do. they walk away. ten years later, your wife gives birth to the six of clubs. “is this your card?” the midwife asks, in a familiar voice.

what the fuck

(via spanishfeces)

She will cry. She will cry over you like there is no tomorrow, until her throat is raw and her hair a mess. Her screams will echo through the walls and there will be nothing beautiful about it.

She will tear out the pages of her diary that she dedicated to you and swear your name will never again appear on the crisp pages that are so important to her. But two days later the words won’t come and she’ll find herself scrawling your name over and over until the ink blurs and merges with her tears.

She will curse you and curse herself and curse the skies for everything and nothing. There will be days when the sun shines but all she will see is rain and clouds, and days when she won’t see anything at all.

And fuck. She will love you even though her heart is breaking because she gave you a part of herself that you refuse to return.

But know this, she will also learn to forget you, so when she walks by in two months time, laughing and smiling without a care in the world, you will wonder how she slipped through your fingers, and she won’t care.

Not one single bit.

— Excerpt from a book I’ll never write #29 (via blossomfully)

(via rowrz)

Fixed. theme by Andrew McCarthy