The expressiveness in her hands just gets me.
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I want it until I get all this performance anxiety about being perfect and pliant and keeping everyone happy.
Of all the stuff that really gets me here, I think the blushiest part of this is the towel under her bum.
Also, just like, just leave me like that for an afternoon. Please.
Listen, I would always rather be kissing girls.
Because kissing girls is transcendent.
“To sing, to scream, to dance barefoot in the woods in the dead of night, with no more awareness of mortality than an animal! These are powerful mysteries. The bellowing of bulls. Springs of honey bubbling from the ground. If we are strong enough in our souls we can rip away the veil and look that naked, terrible beauty right in the face; let God consume us, devour us, unstring our bones. Then spit us out reborn.” — Donna Tartt, The Secret History
“Come on, won’t this be a fun story to tell our kids?”
I’ve gotta say one of the top ten things I’m ashamed to admit I get wet about is this gif accompanied by this caption, which has been sitting in my drafts for quite a while.
Brb hiding forever.
On consideration, it isn’t so much about being a brat. The reality is that I like being your indignant girl, your little unwilling martyr. I like letting outrage carry me through the things you do to me until it exonerates me from the shared guilt of the mess we’ve made. Until I’m pure and clean and right like a perfect little blade. It’s true: I don’t just want to play the victim, I need to be the victim.