It's a long way down
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green-tea-rex:

It’s 1am so I’m sorry for the people who won’t see this. But if you want confidence and don’t know how to get it, a really good way is to be confident in other people. When you walk into Starbucks, think, “damn, that barista’s hair is da bomb!” Or when you go to school, think, “my teacher is rocking that skirt!” When you start seeing everyone as being beautiful, at some point you realize that you’re everyone too.

(via fernwehliving)

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How to kill someone;
Hold their hand and then never touch their skin again,
See them nearly everyday and pretend they don’t exist,
Act like everything you ever said to them was a lie. Was this your plan all along? (via zioncub)

(Source: iclungtoy0u, via smallthingsthatarenoticed)

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I don’t even know what I’m writing, I have no idea, I don’t know anything, and I’m not reading over it, and I’m not correcting my style, and I’m writing just for the sake of writing, just for the sake of writing more to you… Fyodor Dostoevsky, from Poor Folk (via violentwavesofemotion)

(via whalebail)

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setima-alma:

Good Bye Lenin! (2003)"The future lay in our hands. Uncertain, yet promising."
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do-u-wanna-build-a-snow-man:

I like who I am but that doesn’t mean I don’t have things I want to change

(via whalebail)

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Every time a guy asks me to spend time with him,
no matter the context,
I worry that my legs are unshaven.
It’s the middle of February and I’m wearing long pajama pants
when you ask me to come over.
I tell you I’ll be there when I’m done putting away laundry
but really I shave my legs over the side of the bathtub
and hope that the cold air outside doesn’t make them prickly.
What a shitty feminist I am.
You answer the door shirtless, with grey sweatpants clinging to your hips
like I’m sure I will be later
and I make childish comments about you being naked
like I’m sure you will be later
and I remember that the underwear I’m wearing have a hole in the lace
and suddenly I feel like I’m failing
and falling as you shut the door behind us.
You apologize for the mess and I wait for your hands
but instead you ask me to read something you’ve written
and a wave of some new feeling rushes over me.
We read and we talk about Hemingway, Ukraine,
politics and people and Beatles lyrics.
You crack open a beer but don’t shove one down my throat
or anything else for that matter
and tell me that your grandfather is from Chihuahua, Mexico,
and suddenly I’m laughing.
I can’t contain my fits of laughter and my words turn to a singsong mess
and you put your hand on my waist just to ask me if I’m okay
but I’m more than okay. I’m exceptional.
And I deserve a night of words and pacing and questions
and deciding if Antarctica is an iceberg or a land mass
and hugging goodbye at 1am because it’s really getting late
and we’re sleepy.
I slipped on a sheet of black ice walking home
and landed not-so-gracefully on my ass in a puddle
and I suddenly can’t stop laughing again
because my legs are prickly
and this isn’t the kind of wet I’d expected to be. "He Thinks Antarctica Is An Iceberg & I Love That." by Yours, Darcy (via writingistheremedy)

(via whalebail)

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It’s a pointless question to ask yourself if you’re happy. Being able to say you are not unhappy is a great thing already. I think the word "happiness" should only be used with great care. You can use it to describe moments, perhaps. What is happiness? It’s elation. A positive feeling that suddenly jumps beyond merely feeling good. And that’s nice, if you’re reasonably content in your life. If you’re satisfied, with a reasonably clear conscience, if you live reasonably well, then that’s a huge privilege. Not many achieve that. Michael Haneke, from My Life (2009 (via violentwavesofemotion) 608 notes
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