❝ Figure out who you are separate from your family, and the man or woman you’re in a relationship with. Find who you are in this world and what you need to feel good alone. I think that’s the most important thing in life. Find a sense of self because with that, you can do anything else. ❞
Angelina Jolie (via creatingaquietmind)

(Source: middlenameconfused)

,

We are going through a rough patch. Well, actually, you’re quite happy in the relationship, and I’m quite miserable. I think I’m just miserable in general. So I guess I’m going through a rough patch. I feel so horrible about it.
But I do love you. And I do enjoy being with you. I have so much fun with you. Like today, we finished making horchata together, and then we just spent the day laying around. I like that you’re home. I really do. You make me happy, but I let the little things get to me.
I’m working on focusing on the better things. You are my everything, and this ring on my left hand reminds me everyday that I’m your everything too.

❝ I miss your wheat tortilla skin, black bean hair and white rice smile. Your guacamole laugh and your salsa curves, an appetizing addition to any mexican wedding. ❞
A compliment to me from Kelly Donovan
I’m sorry,

I post so many pictures of naked girls, I just can’t help myself.


I’m unusual. That’s just code for “not normal”.

(Source: victoriahollo)

❝ When you are five, you know your age down to the month. Even in your twenties, you know how old you are. I’m twenty-three you say, or maybe twenty-seven. But then in your thirties, something strange starts to happen. It is a mere hiccup at first, an instant of hesitation. How old are you? Oh, I’m—you start confidently, but then you stop. You were going to say thirty-three, but you are not. You’re thirty-five. And then you’re bothered, because you wonder if this is the beginning of the end. It is, of course, but it’s decades before you admit it. ❞
Sara Gruen, Water for Elephants  (via 35bit)

(Source: larmoyante)

Girl Broken Down: 973.

girlbrokendown:

I carry phantoms on my shoulders, ghosts of soured fairy tales and every bullet that has torn into my skin and lodged itself into my bones, feet numb from stepping on mirrored shards because I could no longer see past the shell casings and paper trails to my own reflection, reminders from the yesterdays that I wear on my skin, a chronology of the reality that I deny even to myself because I am dirty, damaged and broken covered in thieves fingerprints and twisted kisses visible only to me or the hands that reach out for me only to be met by a shudder, a certain trigger that pulls me right back onto the tiled floor, their words like whispers that echo in self doubt, self loathing coursing through my veins, heart pumping in distain while I crumble from the inside out, an errant mutation into the left-over girl that no one could ever bring themselves to love.

,

I really need to clean my room, but I can’t stop watching tv.