Please, keep looking. Not for a person, but for your passion, your love, your courage, your goals, your dreams, your happiness, yourself. Keep looking. Explore yourself before you explore another. Know your worth, know yourself. Only then will you know what you need over what you want. You need yourself to become your own.
This is the lucky clover cat. reblog this in 30 seconds & he will bring u good luck and fortune.
THIS ONE!!! THIS IS THE ONE THAT WORKS!!!!!
I reblogged him the day i started treatment and 1. GOT TO MY APPOINTMENT ON TIME 2. FOUND A FREE PARKING TICKET SOMEONE LEFT IN THE METER FOR ME AND 3. GOT FREE STARBUCKS AFTER MY APPOINTMENT!!!!!
I don’t ever reblog these
But holy fuck come thru tonight lucky clover cat you’re all I got
Yet how painful to be recalled, to be mitigated, to have one’s self adulterated, mixed up, become part of another.
““When we find someone who is brave, fun, intelligent, and loving, we have to thank the universe.””
— Maya Angelou (via bibliophilebunny)
I envy writers.
As an artist I can give you a snapshot into a world.
But a writer.
A writer can take you there.
They can weave together words and create a portal to anywhere. You can visit those places instead of looking out a window and wishing to be a part of it.
I envy writers.
I envy artists.
A writer can give you a story.
But an artist.
An artist can show you the exact emotions behind everything.
They can paint a picture worth a thousand words without ever writing one. They can show you every single emotion, every single thought in a second. They can show emotion like a writer never could.
I envy artists.
I will never not reblog this!
There’s this feeling I sometimes get watching humans do the cool things that humans have been doing for thousands of years. It makes my chest expand and my heart thud and I love it. I love this.
Absolutely brilliant
sometimes you’re not gonna have support from anyone. keep going anyway. you’re strong enough to make it.
I have noticed that when all the lights are on, people tend to talk about what they are doing – their outer lives. Sitting round in candlelight or firelight, people start to talk about how they are feeling – their inner lives. They speak subjectively, they argue less, there are longer pauses. To sit alone without any electric light is curiously creative. I have my best ideas at dawn or at nightfall, but not if I switch on the lights – then I start thinking about projects, deadlines, demands, and the shadows and shapes of the house become objects, not suggestions, things that need to done, not a background to thought.
my perfect crime? I memorize the entirety of the macy’s store inventory. I then go on aliexpress.com and find exact replicas of every single purse in the store. I break in at 3am, and replace every purse with a cheaper version of the purse. I take my real purses home and open up an online store on the darknet featuring fake purses. I then sell these real purses as fake purses, making it so that when the feds catch on to my antics, they spend countless years trying to figure out who can replicate purses this well, and who is selling them. Soon an entire division of the FBI is dedicated to finding me and figuring out how my “fake” purses appear to be real. 45 years later they finally trace my ip address and break into my villa in texas and shoot me right in the leg when i attempt to flee. While this would normally not be a fatal wound, due to my constant devotion to my online fake real purse storefront i have suffered an iron deficiency for 35 years. My blood can’t clot and I start to bleed out. Turns out the woman who shot me was a girl who i made out with once in college, and she holds my dying body in her arms and asks me how my fake purses were so real. I spend the last moments of my fleeting life telling her about how every five years i break into a different Macy’s and replace all the purses, and that the purses I have been selling online for a severely discounted price were actually all real, and I have been doing this purely for the gag of it all. When my former college girlfriend gets home from work after rightfully murdering me for my crimes, she goes into her walk in closet, looks at the 13 gucci purses she owns, and realizes that they’re all fakes.
this passed the bechdel test
