The Latest

Jul 22, 2014 / 111,010 notes


Sometimes the internet can be a great place. 

(via myreadinglasses)

Jul 22, 2014 / 622,516 notes

Jul 19, 2014 / 4,002 notes
My entire life can be described in one sentence: It didn’t go as planned, and that’s okay.
Rachel Wolchin (via hayyylove)

(via hayyylove)

Jul 19, 2014 / 28,247 notes
My body wasn’t made to be loved on occasion.
it was made to be loved every night, with warm hands.
Everyday, with dedication, like the suns dedication to the earth.
KeyWrites (via keywrites)

(via toots-toots)

Jul 18, 2014 / 27,528 notes

Before, during, and after work
Jul 14, 2014 / 123,436 notes


Before, during, and after work

(via chocolatehighhh)

I think kissing is the most pure and raw form of physical contact there could ever be. Sex is intimate, sure, but you can have sex with anyone. A kiss though, my god. A kiss can change your world. A small touch between two pairs of lips can blow your mind. Whether it be short and sweet, or long and intense. And when you find someone that looks at you like you’re more beautiful than a blossoming rose; you never want to feel another’s lips against yours ever again.
The Purity of a Kiss (via someonedrankmysoda)

(via nyamennwunamawu)

Jul 13, 2014 / 93,513 notes
Jul 13, 2014 / 3,994 notes

(via c0caino)

I’m full of love, and nobody wants it.
Unknown (via whiteoceans)

(via lovefeedsme)

Jul 13, 2014 / 343,611 notes
Jul 12, 2014 / 6,901 notes
Jul 12, 2014 / 7 notes
Jul 12, 2014 / 50,663 notes

(via rethickulous)

I don’t pay attention to the
world ending.
It has ended for me
many times
and began again in the morning.
Nayyirah Waheed. (via curvesincolor)

(via rethickulous)

Jul 12, 2014 / 80,560 notes
Jul 12, 2014 / 60,844 notes

(via lalunaline)

Here’s to the security guards who maybe had a degree in another land. Here’s to the manicurist who had to leave her family to come here, painting the nails, scrubbing the feet of strangers. Here’s to the janitors who don’t even fucking understand English yet work hard despite it all. Here’s to the fast food workers who work hard to see their family smile. Here’s to the laundry man at the Marriott who told me with the sparkle in his eyes how he was an engineer in Peru. Here’s to the bus driver, the Turkish Sufi who almost danced when I quoted Rumi. Here’s to the harvesters who live in fear of being deported for coming here to open the road for their future generation. Here’s to the taxi drivers from Nigeria, Ghana, Egypt and India who gossip amongst themselves. Here is to them waking up at 4am, calling home to hear the voices of their loved ones. Here is to their children, to the children who despite it all become artists, writers, teachers, doctors, lawyers, activists and rebels. Here’s to Western Union and Money Gram. For never forgetting home. Here’s to their children who carry the heartbeats of their motherland and even in sleep, speak with pride about their fathers. Keep on.

Immigrants. First generation.

Ijeoma Umebinyuo.

(via theijeoma)

(via soulfulaching)

Jul 9, 2014 / 22,243 notes