This. This. This. (via krystallballerrr)
Oh my god. This is you.
This. Is. Perfect.(via cover-me-up-cuddle-me-in)
When I first met you I felt a sort of explosion go off inside me. Like fireworks being ignited in my eyes and butterflies catching flames in the pits of my stomach. I felt every ounce of nervousness fleet my body once your eyes locked with mine and I swear for a nanosecond I could see our future in the transparency of your iris. When we kissed I tasted every old lover departing from my taste buds. Now it seems as though I only taste you on the tip of my tongue at 3 am. It’s your face I search for when I wake up in the middle of the night and it’s your hand I crave to hold when I’m driving down the road. I don’t think I’ve ever been home until the first night you held me. It’s true when they tell you home is not a place, home is somewhere where you feel safe. And while you held our bodies close I swear not a goddamn thing in this world could touch us. You touched more than my skin when your ran your fingers over my scars, you touched a part of my soul no one has ever cared to dig up. I have skeletons in my closet from nights I have killed myself and somehow managed to wake up the next morning. For a while it seemed like I died every night. But when I’m with you I have never felt so alive. Holding your hand felt like holding constellations in my palms and kissing you felt like gravity had a stronger pull than ever. There is something enthralling about you and I felt it the first time we spoke. I can’t tell you how long we will be together, and I can’t tell you if what we have is temporary or perpetual. I can’t explain the way it seems as if time stops when I’m with you. All I can tell you is that you make me feel things that I’ve only read about in books. And if I must compare you to something it would have to be the sun because of the way you light up my dark world. You put the moon to shame every night. And If I had to say something about how beautiful you are I would say that the sun has to shield it’s eyes when you smile for you have the most radiant smile in the world. I would say that flowers hope to be plucked by you and the rain would fall just to graze your cheek. I would say that there is no color in a paint shop that could match the pigment in your lips and there is not a word in the dictionary to describe how they feel pressed against mine at four am.
“Knowing that he wouldn’t be there for her wedding, a terminally ill father walked his 11-year-old down the ‘aisle’ years early with the pastor sweetly pronouncing them ‘daddy and daughter’.
Jim Zetz, 62, from Murrieta, California, who has stage 4 pancreatic cancer, proudly held his daughter, Josie’s hand during their backyard ceremony on March 14 and placed a sparkling ring on her index finger.”
r.d. (via princessmilkovich)
Holy shit, this
This is so powerful
I always feel mean being extra cautious of guys but really you have to be. x(via nakedcuddles)
When I was seventeen and preparing to leave for university, my mother’s only brother saw fit to give me some advice.
“Just don’t be an idiot, kid,” he told me, “and don’t ever forget that boys and girls can never just be friends.”
I laughed and answered, “I’m not too worried. And I don’t really think all guys are like that.”
When I was eighteen and the third annual advent of the common cold was rolling through residence like a pestilent fog, a friend texted me asking if there was anything he could do to help.
I told him that if he could bring me up some vitamin water that would be great, if it wasn’t too much trouble.
That semester I learned that human skin cells replace themselves every three to five weeks. I hoped that in a month, maybe I’d stop feeling the echoes of his touch; maybe my new skin would feel cleaner.
It didn’t. But I stood by what I said. Not all guys are like that.
When I was nineteen and my roommate decided the only way to celebrate the end of midterms was to get wasted at a club, I humoured her.
Four drinks, countless leers and five hands up my skirt later, I informed her I was ready to leave.
“I get why you’re upset,” she told me on the walk home, “but you have to tolerate that sort of thing if you want to have any fun. And really, not all guys are like that.”
(Age nineteen also saw me propositioned for casual sex by no fewer than three different male friends, and while I still believe that guys and girls can indeed be just friends, I was beginning to see my uncle’s point.)
When I was twenty and a stranger that started chatting to me in my usual cafe asked if he could walk with me (since we were going the same way and all), I accepted.
Before we’d even made it three blocks he was pulling me into an alleyway and trying to put his hands up my shirt. “You were staring,” he laughed when I asked what the fuck he was doing (I wasn’t), “I’m just taking pity.”
But not all guys are like that.
I am twenty one and a few days ago a friend and I were walking down the street. A car drove by with the windows down, and a young man stuck his head out and whistled as they passed. I ignored it, carrying on with the conversation.
My friend did not. “Did you know those people?” He asked.
“Not at all,” I answered.
Later when we sat down to eat he got this thoughtful look on his face. When I asked what was wrong he said, “You know not all guys do that kind of thing, right? We’re not all like that.”
As if he were imparting some great profound truth I’d never realized before. My entire life has been turned around, because now I’ve been enlightened: not all guys are like that.
No. Not all guys are. But enough are. Enough that I am uncomfortable when a man sits next to me on the bus. Enough that I will cross to the other side of the street if I see a pack of guys coming my way. Enough that even fleeting eye contact with a male stranger makes my insides crawl with unease. Enough that I cannot feel safe alone in a room with some of my male friends, even ones I’ve known for years. Enough that when I go out past dark for chips or milk or toilet paper, I carry a knife, I wear a coat that obscures my figure, I mimic a man’s gait. Enough that three years later I keep the story of that day to myself, when the only thing that saved me from being raped was a right hook to the jaw and a threat to scream in a crowded dorm, because I know what the response will be.
I live my life with the everburning anxiety that someone is going to put their hands on me regardless of my feelings on the matter, and I’m not going to be able to stop them. I live with the knowledge that statistically one in three women have experienced a sexual assault, but even a number like that can’t be trusted when we are harassed into silence. I live with the learned instinct, the ingrained compulsion to keep my mouth shut to jeers and catcalls, to swallow my anger at lewd suggestions and crude gestures, to put up my walls against insults and threats. I live in an environment that necessitates armouring myself against it just to get through a day peacefully, and I now view that as normal. I have adapted to extreme circumstances and am told to treat it as baseline. I carry this fear close to my heart, rooted into my bones, and I do so to keep myself unharmed.
So you can tell me that not all guys are like that, and you’d even be right, but that isn’t the issue anymore. My problem is not that I’m unaware of the fact that some guys are perfectly civil, decent, kind—my problem is simply this:
In a world where this cynical overcaution is the only thing that ensures my safety, I’m no longer willing to take the risk.
TYLER OAKLEY WAS ON RIGHT THIS MINUTE WITH HIS MOM OH MY GOD
MY MOM IS GOING TO DIE WHEN SHE FINDS OUT
But with her, I didn’t glance around to see who was staring before I kissed her and held her in my arms. I simply did it. Because it didn’t matter who was looking, for the first time in my life I didn’t care. And that’s how I know she is different.
All these gay people and I know two of them. Fml.
7 MILLION NOTES STRONG!
9 MILLION FUCKING PEOPLE?! WHY DO I ONLY KNOW LIKE THREE GAY PEOPLE THEN?!
Where are you in my life?