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OdessaIsWeird
I love writing about anything. Sometimes, I like books more than people. I love food. I love music. I'm weird. I'm afraid of cats and dogs and almost every animals. I wish I could fly. I love sleeping, but I find it really hard to sleep. I like French Fries so much. My life is so much more interesting inside my head. ♥
Date. Hahaha. 🍻

Date. Hahaha. 🍻

Happy birthday Z! 🎉 💑

Happy birthday Z! 🎉 💑

beben-eleben:

I want someone that’s obsessed with only me.

strictmom:

there are probably more lost bobby pins than there are people in this world

Haller!!! 👋

Haller!!! 👋

yvthythua:

stickysheep:

I think about this a lot.

Lets

(Source: wamwanfood)

mileylikestolickhammers:

lubricates:

just imagine what would happen if the internet suddenly stopped working all over the world

I think all the tumblr users would join as a gang and take over the world

"

On a quiet morning whilst you napped on a chair and I looked out of the window and wrote a poem, you made a cute snuffly sound that made me turn to look at you.

And there you were, looking warm and red-cheeked. Like how you always looked in the mornings, the same kind of soft that made my hands itch with wanting to touch you. Your eyelashes were fluttering against your face and I remembered how they always felt like baby moth wings when you kissed me.

As I looked at you, the sun reached through the window to touch your hair. You stretched and shifted and you were glowing. And I thought “I would do anything for him”
“Damn, this kind of love is terrifying.” And “how will I ever recover from this?”

"
—Azra.T “All at once” (via 5000letters)
" You don’t believe me when I tell you that I like the noises you make when you sleep
And I don’t believe you when you tell me that my voice is your favorite sound,
Not when you can sing like that.
One of your ex’s name tastes like stale coffee
And the other one burns as if I’ve swallowed a scalding pot.
You don’t understand why I don’t discuss my first love with you
But how am I supposed to tell the sun that I once fell for the moon?
If I could, I’d pay rent for the spaces between your fingers,
So if anyone else tried to intertwine their hand with yours,
They would be trespassing.
I’m very good at useless metaphors
And very bad at telling people how I feel
But on our worst nights, you’re snow in the month of March
and even though I’m sick of winter,
I will never stop appreciating the beauty of a blizzard. "
All About Us, #1 (via spvandi)

(Source: attuition)

"

I am not the first person you loved.
You are not the first person I looked at
with a mouthful of forevers. We
have both known loss like the sharp edges
of a knife. We have both lived with lips
more scar tissue than skin. Our love came
unannounced in the middle of the night.
Our love came when we’d given up
on asking love to come. I think
that has to be part
of its miracle.
This is how we heal.
I will kiss you like forgiveness. You
will hold me like I’m hope. Our arms
will bandage and we will press promises
between us like flowers in a book.
I will write sonnets to the salt of sweat
on your skin. I will write novels to the scar
of your nose. I will write a dictionary
of all the words I have used trying
to describe the way it feels to have finally,
finally found you.

And I will not be afraid
of your scars.

I know sometimes
it’s still hard to let me see you
in all your cracked perfection,
but please know:
whether it’s the days you burn
more brilliant than the sun
or the nights you collapse into my lap
your body broken into a thousand questions,
you are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
I will love you when you are a still day.
I will love you when you are a hurricane.

"
—Clementine von Radics, “Mouthful of Forevers” (via oofpoetry)
" You don’t believe me when I tell you that I like the noises you make when you sleep
And I don’t believe you when you tell me that my voice is your favorite sound,
Not when you can sing like that.
One of your ex’s name tastes like stale coffee
And the other one burns as if I’ve swallowed a scalding pot.
You don’t understand why I don’t discuss my first love with you
But how am I supposed to tell the sun that I once fell for the moon?
If I could, I’d pay rent for the spaces between your fingers,
So if anyone else tried to intertwine their hand with yours,
They would be trespassing.
I’m very good at useless metaphors
And very bad at telling people how I feel
But on our worst nights, you’re snow in the month of March
and even though I’m sick of winter,
I will never stop appreciating the beauty of a blizzard. "
All About Us, #1 (via spvandi)

(Source: attuition)

"

I am not the first person you loved.
You are not the first person I looked at
with a mouthful of forevers. We
have both known loss like the sharp edges
of a knife. We have both lived with lips
more scar tissue than skin. Our love came
unannounced in the middle of the night.
Our love came when we’d given up
on asking love to come. I think
that has to be part
of its miracle.
This is how we heal.
I will kiss you like forgiveness. You
will hold me like I’m hope. Our arms
will bandage and we will press promises
between us like flowers in a book.
I will write sonnets to the salt of sweat
on your skin. I will write novels to the scar
of your nose. I will write a dictionary
of all the words I have used trying
to describe the way it feels to have finally,
finally found you.

And I will not be afraid
of your scars.

I know sometimes
it’s still hard to let me see you
in all your cracked perfection,
but please know:
whether it’s the days you burn
more brilliant than the sun
or the nights you collapse into my lap
your body broken into a thousand questions,
you are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
I will love you when you are a still day.
I will love you when you are a hurricane.

"
—Clementine von Radics, “Mouthful of Forevers” (via oofpoetry)
"

You’re standing against a wall, holding onto a girl whose knees you’ve shot without touching. Holding, but not in the way you’ve ever known it. Hold like you’re drowning, hold like you’re buried, hold until your arms are trembling from the strength of it. She’s elastic against you, she’s all wilting and drooping and long long lashes hiding eyes painted black from wanting. She won’t look at you because she doesn’t know how to without spilling desire.

You’re both talking a language that neither of you can understand. But it sounds like ‘please’ or it sounds like ‘touch me everywhere.’ But this is more than your fingers or your mouth. This is the five seconds that it takes to peel her self-conscious away from her body. This is the five minutes of holding her hips between your hands and pressing your fingers into the stretch marks there and saying ‘you’re so fucking beautiful.’ This is really meaning it. This is thanking God for your hands and their ability to feel. You think maybe the dip of her sternum is forgiveness. This is how the soft of her against you makes your breath ragged. This is your chest heaving and sweat on your upper lip. The way you’ve forgotten the first name of every girl you’ve ever touched. The way her hair feels between your knuckles when you yank it. The noise she makes.

This is the hour that it takes for her to believe that you want her, skin and all. And when she believes you, you’ll know. Her defences will fall off her like water. She’ll shrug the sweater off her shoulders and that strip of bare skin will drive you so crazy that you’ll think about it for weeks later and it’ll make you hard again. You’ll text her saying that you’re thinking about her and your colleagues will ask why the freckles on your cheeks have connected to turn you bright red and you’ll mumble something about the sun. It’s not the sun. It’s the way she fell apart when you bit her neck and moaned honey into her throat. You’ll both be so brimming the ocean will rise jealous to see you. You’ll meet a girl and she’ll trust you and it will feel like undressing with all your clothes still on. It’ll feel like the raw of a wound and the relief of healing. She’ll put her throat in your open hands and close her eyes. This is what trust looks like.

Dip your fingers into her swollen mouth. Lean closer, breathe the words, you’ll fill her like this: ‘you are so beautiful and I’m going to put my hands everywhere.’

"
Azra.T  (via 5000letters)
" I hope you know that no one will love you like I did. That’s not bitter, or resentful, it’s just the truth. I hope she kisses your freckles. I hope she looks after you in the dark. Nurtures and adores the angry and the fight of you. I hope she marvels at the ugly beauty of your nose. That she touches your skin with all the wonder of a child seeing their first firework show. That she’s good to you . Doesn’t get too angry when you don’t talk to her for a few days. Waits patiently for you to come back and love her again. Faithful, just like you need.

But know, it won’t be the same. It won’t even come close to the thunderstorms that were moving beneath my skin from what I felt for you. I would have loved you. I would have kept stoking that fire until I was shaking and smouldering with it. Until every word I hiccuped began to sound like ‘come closer.’ I would have loved you till there was nothing left. Until we were both empty and full from the storm of it. That doesn’t happen often, not everyone can wring themselves out so completely and still be spilling over. So I hope she loves you, I really do. But I also hope that you know it’s not the same. I hope you realise what you lost and somewhen, 40 years from now, that realisation shakes you to the bone. "
Azra.T “Wait, they don’t love you like I do.”  (via 5000letters)

sarahaliceyoung:

Sometimes you need to remind yourself that you were the one who carried you through the heartache. You are the one who sits with the cold body on the shower floor, and picks it up. You are the one who feeds it, who clothes it, who tucks it into bed, and you should be proud of that. Having the strength to take care of yourself when everyone around you is trying to bleed you dry, that is the strongest thing in the universe

CREDIT