waves crash along the battered, lonely lighthouse
soldier on, soldier on
keep your heart close to the ground
New York City
THE AMOUNT OF THINGS I HAVE TO DO AND I’M SITTING HERE REFRESHING MY FUCKING DASHBOARD OVER AND OVER AGAIN I HATE THIS FUCKING WEBSITE
two people who like the same things will be good friends but two people who hate the same things will be best friends
every breath, every hour has come to this.
there’s a special place in hell reserved just for me
it’s called the throne
There’s something about a golf course at five in the morning – or six in the morning, when the fog is rising off of it – that really says, ‘Wow. This is a beautiful place to be. This is a beautiful world we live in.’ I know that’s a grand statement, but it’s true.
its fucked up how planes can fly without flapping their wings
she reaches down seductively. I guide her hand to my zipper. she unzips my fanny pack by mistake. raviolis spill out everywhere