The Girl Behind The Red Door... |
I'm Emily. 21. Film major. walking jukebox. Every word I cannot express logically comes out in a mess of poems and writing or whatever you may want to call it. Some of you draw. Some of you write. Some of you take photos or sing or play an instrument or scream your words out loud when nobody's listening. But that's the beauty of life. Those are the things that make us feel alive. So, I'm here to share with you the things that make me feel just that. oh yes, and what I write on here is mine so pleaseee don't steal it >.< |
.yep.
(Source: mhbb, via dirshtikdrek)
(Source: stylicity, via whiteellene)
I will keep your eyes in my mind.
Seas don’t compare and stars cannot shine quite as bright
But the remnants of your smile will stay with me
Until they’re tossing sunflowers on my fairly earned grave
And I will yearn for the company of your cheek being cradled against my palm
And I will help you remember what the meaning of this shattered world is
And I will hold your hand the whole way.
This
Is
A
Promise.
(Source: champagne-tastee, via whiteellene)
Warona J. (via cascadingletters)
(Source: cresently, via brenditaraqs)
Last night was quite possibly the best night of my life, following the worst day of my life at work. I don’t say it enough, but I have amazing friends. I made a new friend last night as well. I appreciate every one of them, from their texts telling me about Pilates to their overview of how much fun they had last night. I love all of them and am so thankful for the love and support they show me every day. ❤
(Source: movementagainstlove, via theannoyingloudone)
(Source: faulty-machines, via k33p1n9-th3-m00n)
Peering
So long
Between keyholes and
Failed attempts at being a dreamer
Who never had wings,
I cannot tell
Anymore
Whether you are
Strangling me
Or setting me free.
Mark Twain (via miel-doux)
(Source: enicoleh, via soulkillers)
(Source: likeafieldmouse, via ohpennylane)
I cannot speak anymore
It’s almost as if
My past has become a blur of who I used to be and a struggle for who I’m trying to become.
Maybe one day I’ll understand why the grass being greener on the other side is something I need so badly,
Maybe I’ll appreciate the smell of roses instead of burning the petals until they smile their way to the ground,
Maybe I’ll figure out why you loved me so much,
But I sure as hell won’t do a thing about it.
Sierra is the best at photo editing.
A faint smell of curious vexation caught our senses, down streets of dandified presence.
I watched as she spit out raspberry...