And when at last you find someone to whom you feel you can pour out your soul, you stop in shock at the words you utter— they are so rusty, so ugly, so meaningless and feeble from being kept in the small cramped dark inside you so long.
— Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath (via christianbw)
Maybe we’ll meet again, when we are slightly older and our minds less hectic, and I’ll be right for you and you’ll be right for me. But right now, I am chaos to your thoughts and you are poison to my heart.
— (via artistiquesoul)
God, I really hope so(via girlsontheplayground)
What can you do with a narcissists love?
You’re beautiful, but you’re empty. No one could die for you.
— Antoine de Saint Exupéry, The Little Prince (via larmoyante)
Please don’t kiss my scars that shit is just awk as fuck
He was just another symptom of her weird attraction to suffering. He’d done her a favour. She was, she decided, the kind of person vulnerable to the the sexiness of pity. A child’s hot tears against your breast, the delicious weight of a man bereft - they gave you a power you couldn’t resist. And there you were, crashing through the overcast as hot as the sun itself, determined that you were the cure.
— Tim Winston