Let’s call him Buchanan because frat boys are the Tom Buchanans of the world, and he is the absolute epitome of such. Pre-med, well-read, inherently and remorselessly careless.

The particular library room they were in had: a door, and a window. She was going down on him; he wasn’t into it. He pointed at the door and said, “Hey, what’s that!?” She looked over and he climbed out the window. 

(via ohfrancie)

We’ve only spent $200 so far on alcohol for Coachella, that’s reasonable, right?

Also, none of my outfits show midriff = I can still eat everything. This is particularly important because the ticket came with a $225 dinner for Friday night.

People keep asking me why I’m so happy all the time. Maybe if you were happy all the time too, I would be normal. So go be happy?

P.S.

I saw a picture of you and your arms look very hench. Well done xx

Body wave perm, summer-ready hair to match my summer-ready mind

On nights like these it feels like the memories are trying to drown me. I can’t help but think that half of the people around me are only so happy because they don’t know any better. I almost feel like I do know better (it’s a very conceited thought).

But I wonder if they know what it’s like to have breakfast waiting on the table after every morning shower. Or curl up next to you with your headphones on. Or walk across cobbled streets with you at 3 in the morning, still warm from the night. You’re the only one whose hands I like to hold. I don’t like other hands. Other hands feel icky.

People keep telling me I’m so happy and genuine, and they’re right. I really am happy, I promise. I just miss you, that’s all. And I don’t think I love you any less than I always have. Isn’t that pathetic?

"The cure for anything is salt water - tears, sweat, or the sea."

– Isak Dinesen (via hocuspicus)

(via poodamachi)

It’s been a few months now.

There are still mornings when I wake from dreams of us together as though we never parted. 

I really miss saying, “I love you,” to someone who isn’t my cat.