I’m just going to leave this here.
hair
Either he’s just hit the spot or she’s just figured out the punchline to that joke he told at dinner.
The world may never know.
Either way, she’s saying “oh”.
Squirming and rolling are just a few of my favorite pastimes.
I’m feeling pulled taut.
Tonight’s just one of those nights where I need this.
Despite not getting any sleep last night, I decided to go for a jog this evening rather than just take a nap or get a really early night. There has been some stuff on my mind lately and I decided to pull on some sneakers to just clear my head for a while.
I mentioned earlier today that I missed the rain. It was as if Mother Nature reads my tumblr, because somewhere into the run I started to feel some drops on my shoulders. I kept going until I saw some lightning fill the sky for a moment and decided it would be in my best interest to turn back.
As I started to run back towards home, it started pouring. Buckets. Everywhere. So hard I could barely keep my eyes open as it pooled on my cheekbones and stuck to my lashes. So clean and so pungent at the same time. Rain just has the strangest smell.
I picked up speed as I got into town and saw people scrambling from storefronts to their cars. A couple crowded under a small umbrella, a child practically diving into the backseat of a sedan, a woman covering her head with a pizza box. Some men sitting at a table under the overhang at a bar chuckled as I passed with my goosebump-covered skin and my ponytail stuck to the side of my neck.
When I got inside, I practically had to wring myself out. I peeled off my tank top and sports bra and squeezed the wetness from my hair. I took a few deep breaths, evening myself out after having rushed home.
And, finally, I felt completely awake.
(100/365) (von annak.williams)
After spending two months in a rainforest climate, I am not used to the heat at all. This brief experience of “summer” would be so much better if it involved a room full of fans. And topless women.
The Southern Gentleman insists that I look like her when I wear dark clothing. I don’t see it.
Oh my stars, she’s stunning.
“Maybe the first time you saw her you were ten. She was standing in the sun scratching her legs. Or tracing letters in the dirt with a stick. Her hair was being pulled. Or she was pulling someone’s hair. And a part of you was drawn to her, and a part of you resisted—wanting to ride off on your bicycle, kick a stone, remain uncomplicated. In the same breath you felt the strength of a man, and a self-pity that made you feel small and hurt. Part of you thought: Please don’t look at me. If you don’t, I can still turn away. And part of you thought: Look at me,“ Nicole Krauss, The History of Love
by Anatoly Toor