Pocket full of mumbles

pauledaniels:

Am I the one you think about when you’re sitting in your faintin’ chair drinking pink rabbits?
©2014 Paul E. Daniels
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Oui
Apr 15

pauledaniels:

Am I the one you think about when you’re sitting in your faintin’ chair drinking pink rabbits?

©2014 Paul E. Daniels

Instagram | music blog | Tumblr

Oui

beccers:

AH

I’m a bunny.
Jul 9

beccers:

AH

I’m a bunny.

(Source: amphetaminded, via lxie)

Jul 9

(Source: archivistsrock, via lxie)

Tiny cub, I love you. 
May 31

Tiny cub, I love you. 

(Source: 500px.com, via enamour-ed)

May 29

Chansons fétiches du moment

"Somebody loves you if they don’t mind the quiet. They don’t mind running errands with you or cleaning your apartment while blasting some annoying music. There’s no pressure, no need to fill the silences. You know how with some of your friends there needs to be some sort of activity for you to hang out? You don’t feel uncomfortable just shooting the shit and watching bad reality TV with them. You need something that will keep the both of you busy to ensure there won’t be a void. That’s not love. That’s “hey babe! I like you okay. Do you wanna grab lunch? I think we have enough to talk about to fill two hours!” It’s a damn dream when you find someone you can do nothing with. Whether you’re skydiving together or sitting at home and doing different things, it’s always comfortable. That is fucking love."

- Thought Catalog, How To Tell If Someone Loves You (via skeletales)

(via skeletales)

Mar 2

Have you ever just looked at someone and thought, “I really love you”. They’re just talking or humming or watching a movie or reading a book or laughing or something, and there’s something about them in that moment—their body is alive, there’s a light in their eyes, something—that makes you think, “I just really love you.” It’s a weird sensation to think this, but it’s pretty awesome that we can feel this way about another being.

(Source: text-pistol, via skeletales)

Mar 2
I really love you
nevver:

What is love?
Mar 2

nevver:

What is love?

(via skeletales)

"I think it’s great for two people to be together. That is a good number. I think, that to keep it alive though, you can’t spend every day together. It wears out the magic, Love means nothing to me if it’s not fortified with fierce, painful longing, brief explosive instances of furious passion and intimacy and then a sad parting for a time. In that way, you can give your life to it and still have a life of your own. I think some couples spend too much time together. They flatten out the potential for experience by constant closeness. Passion builds over time like steam. Let it rage until it’s exhausted and then leave it alone to let it build up again. Why can’t love be insane and distorted? How can it be vital if it has the same threshold as normal day-to-day experience? Why can’t you write burning letters and let your nocturnal self smolder with desire for one who is not there? Why not let the days before you see her be excruciating and ferment in your mind so on the day you go to the airport to pick her up, you’re nearly sick with anticipation? And then when desire shows the first sign of contentment, throw it back in its cage and let it slowly build itself back into a state of starved fury. Then when you are together, it all matters. So that when you look into her eyes, you lose your balance, so that when she touches you, it feels like you have never been touched before. When she says your name, you think it was she who named you. When she has gone, you bury your face in the pillow to smell her hair and you lie awake at night remembering your face in her neck, her breathing and the amazing smell of her skin. Your eyes go wet because you want her so bad and miss her so much. Now that is worth the miles and the time. That matches the inferno of life. Otherwise you poison each other with your presence day after day as you drag each other through the inevitable mundane aspects of your lives. That is the slow death that I see slapped on faces everywhere I go. It’s part of the world’s sadness that’s more empty than cold, poorly lit rooms in cities of the American night."

- Henry Rollins (via skeletales)

(Source: claireyb, via skeletales)

Mar 1