The Girl - City and Colour
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It’s dangerous to fall for an artist. They will sit outside the walls you’ve built around your heart and stick folded poems in the cracks and paint a masterpiece on the cold, grey stone while softly singing your favorite song and you’ll begin to find pieces of yourself in between the bristles of their paint brushes and the spaces of their guitar strings.
They will equate you to July thunderstorms and see your bones as stardust when you thought you were made of ashes and they’ll draw you with flowers in your hair and the universe in your eyes. They will hand-craft a love so singular and so personal that you can’t help but accept it. But falling for an artist is dangerous, because when they abandon their work, you will realize that someone who can create such beautiful things could just as skillfully destroy them.
m.f.e (via attuition)
lukehemning asked:
I'm being neon. I'm getting neon blue pants and buying glow sticks and dip dying my hair
That is just truly brilliant. Four for you.
One Shot (Harry Styles): Time
Time was running out for him. The clock seemed to be so heavy on his shoulders. Time was speeding up but also slowing down. Bones seemed so frail so weak and tiny. But her beautiful pristine hair seemed the same glow. Her hands had gotten smaller with Harry’s grip if that was possible with his enormously large hands. Her skin seemed to stretch around the bones like tight leather.
Time had aged on her and she was younger than him. Seventeen. A girl freshly on her way to woman hood. Time had made her frail and have so much pain. My sweet and lovely Chloe. The winter couldn’t bare with her grayish skin. It started off not so cold where only I needed to where a jacket but she needed the full gear. I would read to her. Her favorite books and watch old home movies of her.
I’d make her take a video together just so we can say we did. The medication made her sleepy. She didn’t know it but I’d go home and cry. Hours of precious time I could waste but her heart beats where in measure now. I sat there looking over photos of her wanting to ask so many questions but I knew the answer.
He would stand at the door way every morning to help her father with her. To read to her to make her laugh. To keep her company. All these things were to hopefully witness a miracle. He prayed for a miracle. Even though he hadn’t prayed in a few years he hoped God would do something for him. Yet she still faded and she was becoming weaker.
My sweet and perfect Chloe Martin was dying and there was nothing to make time stop for me. Just to have a happy life full of love with her. Some people would say I already did but I just cannot bear to lose her. My heart fears for the days when I go to her house and she isn’t there to open the door for me and ask if I want lemonade.
I want to grow up not because i hate my parents or want to get out of home but because i want the freedom to do tiny things like decided what furniture goes in my house and what colour the walls are and if i should go out at night rather than stay in doing work for once I want to decide what music to play in my own home while im cooking or cleaning and how loud it is. I want to experience the world without a barrier and to be able to express who i am through the little details.
It is all loneliness, the way you live.
You get up and make the bed like you are trying
to prove a point. You make coffee that is never
quite right and never finish it. This is the third day
you’ve worn this shirt. Eventually, you will paint
your nails again, wash the grease from your hair.
Once you have someone besides your own reflection
to impress.
You go to parties where you know
you will only stay an hour. Lean quietly against the wall,
watching people with enviably easy laughter.
Your smile is a cracked boat in a flooded river. Close,
but still useless. You do not talk to strangers, just sit there
like a begging dog beside the dinner table,
with eyes that say “Please, come, be my friend.
I am a coward, but I’m hungry.”
Clementine von Radics, “But Lately” (via ivarstead)
Sometimes I forget to listen. I forget to let a friend be. To tell their whole story and paint their full heart into the air. I’m too eager to respond with a fix, a solution, a plan. I interrupt the art. I look for a pause to jump in and offer all sorts of articulate banter, when this isn’t what they want. They just want to speak until they’re out of breath, and then meet eyes and feel like they’re okay and understood and not alone. It’s a beautiful thing, and I want to let it happen. I want to let them finish painting in their own words. And then maybe I will understand.
J.S. (via tyleroakley)
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Maybelline Lipstick in Shocking Coral from the Vivids collections
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… . so much more. ♡