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“Your life is not an episode of Skins. Things will never look quite as good as they do in a faded, sun-drenched Polaroid; your days are not an editorial from Lula. Your life is not a Sofia Coppola movie, or a Chuck Palahniuk novel, or a Charles Bukowski poem. Grace Coddington isn’t your creative director. Bon Iver and Joy Division don’t play softly in the background at appropriate moments. Your hysterical teenage diary isn’t a work of art. Your room probably isn’t Selby material. Your life isn’t a Tumblr screencap. Every word that comes out of your mouth will not be beautiful and poignant, infinitely quotable. Your pain will not be pretty. Crying till you vomit is always shit. You cannot romanticize hurt. Or sadness. Or loneliness. You will have homework, and hangovers and bad hair days. The train being late won’t lead to any fateful encounters, it will make you late. Sometimes your work will suck. Sometimes you will suck. Far too often, everything will suck - and not in a Wes Anderson kind of way. And there is no divine consolation - only the knowledge that we will hopefully experience the full spectrum - and that sometimes, just sometimes, life will feel like a Coppola film.” —(via mimi-memek0, steelrabbitstonecoldfox) (via peoplesizedbabies) (via zbill) (via malpancakez) (via lifeofmegan)
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Apartment - Young the Giant

(Source: indietrack, via arnoonoo)

Disconnect.

I could feel my eyes begin to water and the closing in my throat begin. I knew what I should say because the words were screaming in my head, but I had too much pride, they couldn’t reach my lips. And so instead I chose silence. Because I didn’t know what to say to you. And it seems that the normal things in life that I should want, the things that make you happy for me, don’t make myself as happy as I’d hope they would. But I try, I try my hardest to want what you want and not lose myself in the process. And when you doubt me, and tell me you’re worried about me, I wish you would just stop talking. Because I’m worried too, and your words scare me.

(Source: slicingvegetables, via aubreykta)

(Source: pass-that, via dancingwiththewolvess)

(Source: xigh, via i-s-abella)

Gone

margotinblogform:

You’d say there’s nothing like you and I
But there are thousands of ways
For a love to die
And we’re kind of like those
Blank faces
And cold shoulders
And silent dinners
And empty places
Because I don’t see anything in you these days
Except maybe love that’s evaporated
In a thousand different ways

(Source: steezyturtles, via visualflavor)

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