uglysoulsbeautifulbodies:

DO NOT DISMISS A SOMETHING A CHILD IS PROUD OF. LOOK AT IT. POINT SOMETHING OUT AND TELL THEM YOU LOVE IT. IF A CHILD DRAWS YOU A RAINBOW, TELL THEM YOU LOVE HOW IT HAS RED. THEY WILL THINK “WOW. IT DOES HAVE RED. THEY LOVE HOW I PUT RED IN IT. I PUT RED IN IT. AND THEY NOTICED.” MAKE SURE YOUR CHILD KNOWS YOU ARE PROUD OF THEM.

(via love-aslongasyoulive)


imaswimmer95:

Today I took my last ACT. After taking it 6 times, I was so glad to be done with the standardized test, so glad that I turned to the person next to me and whispered “Dobby is free” as soon as my test book was collected


missmisfitt:

Taking the ACT tomorrow! Kinda freaking the fuck out. Who else is taking it?


drewwilsonphoto:

you miss childhood so much you try dressing like you would if you were seven again. sneakers and frilly socks. big t-shirts and messy hair, because you’ve stopped caring about perfect hair. you don’t mind getting your knees dirty or scabs on your shins. those pains don’t make you flinch. those pains don’t talk to you at night. those pains don’t hurt like the hurt you’ve really felt. the type of hurt that can’t be pin pointed or fixed with copious amounts of Neosporin. you don’t worry about how you’ll feel in the morning until the morning comes. you bite the skin off the tips of your fingers like your aiming for the bone. because the stress and pain hits you bone deep. bone deep. its almost romantic sounding. but isn’t being so broken such a romantic thing anymore? sad music doesn’t even phase you. its all you know. instrumentals lined with tiny violins and crying cellos. you lay back in the grass and close your eyes. you try forgetting about the city surrounding you. the heat rises from the pavement and grips your lungs like my hands grip the small of your neck. the sun beats down on you like you owe it money. but you don’t sweat. this is the small stuff. ice coffee and a bagel with cream cheese. start your day happy. fall apart at the end. repeat. things get better. then they get worse. three months of total bliss for three months of total shit. thats the way life works right? it always gets better though. be still. 

drewwilsonphoto:

you miss childhood so much you try dressing like you would if you were seven again. sneakers and frilly socks. big t-shirts and messy hair, because you’ve stopped caring about perfect hair. you don’t mind getting your knees dirty or scabs on your shins. those pains don’t make you flinch. those pains don’t talk to you at night. those pains don’t hurt like the hurt you’ve really felt. the type of hurt that can’t be pin pointed or fixed with copious amounts of Neosporin. you don’t worry about how you’ll feel in the morning until the morning comes. you bite the skin off the tips of your fingers like your aiming for the bone. because the stress and pain hits you bone deep. bone deep. its almost romantic sounding. but isn’t being so broken such a romantic thing anymore? sad music doesn’t even phase you. its all you know. instrumentals lined with tiny violins and crying cellos. you lay back in the grass and close your eyes. you try forgetting about the city surrounding you. the heat rises from the pavement and grips your lungs like my hands grip the small of your neck. the sun beats down on you like you owe it money. but you don’t sweat. this is the small stuff. ice coffee and a bagel with cream cheese. start your day happy. fall apart at the end. repeat. things get better. then they get worse. three months of total bliss for three months of total shit. thats the way life works right? it always gets better though. be still. 


rebeccacrane:

you know what’s cool

when you’re so used to a certain person’s voice that you can imagine them saying anything even if the person has never said that before

(via infatuated-with-donuts)


(via orgasm)


dutchster:

when the doorbell rings and i know it’s the pizza guy

image

(via orgasm)