wild hearts can't be broken:

Luke: I get to see you NEXT FRIDAY. I must burst. With the excitement. I'll explode into chainsaw confetti. It's like heart confetti, but manlier.

I wake up.
You tell me the sleep in my eyes looks like stars.

You tell me I’m a miracle.

a love letter about long distance & marco polo

Oz: It was stupid to think that you'd just be... waiting.

Willow: I was waiting. I feel like some part of me will always be waiting for you. Like if I'm old and blue-haired and I turn the corner in Istanbul and there you are, I won't be surprised... Because you're with me, you know?

My gratitude for these mundane enjoyments amazes me. But I don’t require him, he’s no transfusion. Instead he pleases me. It’s a happiness, to be so simply pleased.

— Margaret Atwood

Love blurs your vision; but after it recedes, you can see more clearly than ever. It’s like the tide going out, revealing whatever’s been thrown away and sunk: broken bottles, old gloves, rusting pop cans, nibbled fishbodies, bones. This is the kind of thing you see if you sit in the darkness with open eyes, not knowing the future. The ruin you’ve made.

— Margaret Atwood

I find the uneven ticking in my
chest is just your name in Morse
code again and again. It never
says anything else and I don’t
ask it to.

You’ve always said it was such a disaster,” Ben said to me, puzzled.
“It was,” I said. “It was horrible.”
“Then why would you want to have lunch with him?”
“That’s hard to explain,” I said, though it may not be. What we share, Jon and I, may be a lot like a traffic accident, but we do share it. We are survivors, of each other.

— Cat’s Eye by: Margaret Atwood

(via thechocolatebrigade)

All we want is love.

It’s worth more than money, worth more than fame, or an Aston Martin. Someone we can fight with like crazy and then have the kind of make up sex that makes your left side go numb. “I didn’t eve know we were fighting — can you make me an omelet?” Somebody who will go to court for you, and lie. Somebody who makes you horny even after they’ve puked in your car.

LOVE.

Somebody you can be with for 65-70 years of your life until you’re sitting on the porch of the house you bought together. And you’re old, wrinkly, and smelly, and poop through a hole in your side. And she’s old, wrinkly, and smelly, and can’t remember your name. She just keeps calling you “The Nice Man.” But you’re still in love, and you’re holding each others hand and as you stare into each others milky, cataract filled eyes your hearts well up, explode, and you both die.

Ugh.

That’s all we want.

— Christopher Titus

two more days til i get to spend time goofing around with my favorite person. i cannot wait to see him again. to be able to touch him, smell him, kiss him, make him laugh. he’s my partner in crime, my snark competitor, and my lazy day buddy.

juxtaposition, n.

It scares me how hard it is to remember life before you. I can’t even make comparisons anymore, because my memories of that time have all the depth of a photograph. It seems foolish to play games of better and worse. It’s simply a matter of is and is no longer.

— The Lover’s Dictionary by David Levithan

gravity, n.

I imagine you saved my life. And then I wonder if I’m just imagining it.

— The Lover’s Dictionary by David Levithan

themed by coryjohnny for tumblr