Install Theme
 

 

(Source: almostgolden, via foxilite)

We boil at different degrees.

— Ralph Waldo Emerson (via likeafieldmouse)

Before I die, I want to be somebody’s favorite hiding place, the place they can put everything they know they need to survive, every secret, every solitude, every nervous prayer, and be absolutely certain I will keep it safe. I will keep it safe.

— Andrea Gibson (via quotes-shape-us)

lordemusic:

oarv:

RGB Colorspace Atlas, a cubed book depicting every color imaginable

woaaaah i need this

lordemusic:

oarv:

RGB Colorspace Atlas, a cubed book depicting every color imaginable

woaaaah i need this

(via coendure)

I wrote this for you.

(Source: danielodowd, via miuwmiuww)

(Source: likeafieldmouse)

Ah, basement. How I love thee.

Ah, basement. How I love thee.

i miss so many places but i really don’t miss any places at all.

because missing a place is really a substitute for missing a group of people, a mindset, a time - an era of your life defined by your surroundings because they were different than anything else you’ve ever known. going back to the place won’t satiate the longing or quell the nostalgia, because no matter what, things have changed, and people have moved on and the place won’t be how you’ve left it. sometimes returning to the city or the country just adds to the emptiness of knowing that you can never return to those specific trips that shaped you; you’ll never recreate those memories fading ever-distant into your past. you can’t tug at the ever-flowing current of time to get just a few seconds back of that feeling of truly living that was inspired by the confluence of stars that brought you, those people, that place, those circumstances together all at once.

so the only thing to do is keep chasing, chasing that wanderlust, collecting more and more experiences that you’ll then miss equally sharply, leaving a trail of goodbyes and adding to the ever-growing list of places you miss, experiences you ache to replay, moments that define who you are. those places are home, even if they will never exist again the way they did for you then.

— i wrote a note on my phone at midnight, by marit b.  (via theflowershop)

(Source: greekyoga, via cindyalexandra)