I am out of touch with reality. I have come to the conclusion that it bores me. I comfort myself with literary genius. It's not just the smell of books that is invigorating. But the adventure, the imagery, the mystic, the excitement that isn't found in today's mundane society. Music eithers calms me down or pumps me up. The jangly guitar, the ethereal vocals, the ambient soundscapes. My imagination sometimes spills onto paper. Onto word. It liberates me. Yet hinders my progress. I make friends easily, but only if you approach me first. My anxiety is always there. Tucked in the back of my mind, always appearing when it feels most convenient for itself. Never for me. I am nervous, impulsive, stable, daydreamer, creative, realistic, curious, uninterested. I am a walking paradox. But I can cope with that. It doesn't define me, yet it sums me up perfectly.

standardgaydad:

u know u fucked up when u still haven’t slept yet and u hear birds chirping outside

(via ha-ze)

complexest:

 ~ more here ~

complexest:

 ~ more here ~

(Source: cocoablush, via indoxyl)

Childish Gambino 3005 (Acoustic Flow)
[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]
181421 Plays

(Source: banksyart, via rossary)

targayen:

do you ever stay in the shower for so long you forget who you are

(Source: margayret, via ha-ze)

Are you scared? Or are you not ready? There is a difference.
Unique Quietness  (via kvtes)

(Source: psych-facts, via rossary)

booforce:

my friend who snorts cocaine won’t eat cookie dough because it’s bad for you

(Source: biforce, via acomas)

(Source: foxenews, via voltt)

(Source: coconut-desu, via voltt)

(Source: mulberry-cookies, via timbllr)

(Source: frexiste, via uselesskids)

(Source: thebohogarden, via l-unaes)

//Liz. 20. Fashion. Music. Indie// I love the smell of books. The pulse of music. The comfort of home.