Someone told me I was incapable of writing anything convincingly romantic (someone who seems to think I’m capable of writing anything at all) but this is what came out and it funnily just proves just how aromantic I am. Fabulous.
She didn’t even knock. She just slammed the door open and stomped in, fuming.
He was sprawled on his bed, lying on his back, staring blankly up at the ceiling. He didn’t even look at her as she walked in.
“I have to tell you something,”
He didn’t move. If she hadn’t caught that ever so slight sigh he let out, she would have thought he hadn’t even heard her.
“I have to tell you something and it’s important,” she said again.
She balled up her fists and walked to his bedside and looked down at him. Lazily he let his gaze meet hers, scowling down at him, but stubbornly held his bored indifference, his eyes cool and uncaring.
“I think—I think…I’m beginning to fall in love with you.”
He jerked up, sat straight up, so quickly that his head hit the headboard—and between the awful groan he let out and the tears that began streaming down his cheeks—the cool façade he was trying to make seem so effortless shattered . He sat up in bed sputtering, and clutching his head as she stood over him, red-faced.
“Look, it’s like an actual serious problem that is in my life right now and I would really appreciate it if you just accepted it and there it is and it’s out and I said it so there it is. It’s there.”
He looked at her, cheeks burning.
“Ok. Well, I guess I’m going now.”
His mouth opened and shut stupidly like some idiot goldfish.
She turned on her heel and sped out the door, letting it slam behind her.
(Source: mymotionpictureslist, via appleday)
The first of many Amos shots #kitty #cat ❤❤ (Taken with Instagram at Madison Oglethorpe Animal Shelter)
i love you
this is so cute
Perfectly carved, tiny skulls made from pearls.
Artist: Shinji Nakaba
(Source: hippiewitch, via nothxforthememories)
Beauty, the world seemed to say. And as if to prove it (scientifically) wherever he looked at the houses, at the railings, at the antelopes stretching over the palings, beauty sprang instantly. To watch a leaf quivering in the rush of air was an exquisite joy. Up in the sky swallows swooping, swerving, flinging themselves in and out, round and round, yet always with perfect control as if elastics held them; and the flies rising and falling; and the sun spotting now this leaf, now that, in mockery, dazzling it with soft gold in pure good temper; and now again some chime (it might be a motor horn) tinkling divinely on the grass stalks—all of this, calm and reasonable as it was, made out of ordinary things as it was, was the truth now; beauty, that was the truth now. Beauty was everywhere. — Mrs. Dalloway, Virginia Woolf