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.

juilanne:

i love typing because my fingers make that cool sound and i seem professional

(via flawh)

majesty:

-

(Source: blueberryboy, via acomas)

ten-percent-turtle:

*dies suffocating while trying not to cough in public*

(via flawh)

(Source: fknq, via mooniebunny)

(Source: 1337tattoos, via italiq)

oknope:

people who think i’m attractive:

  1. my mom
  2. nobody
  3. nobody
  4. no one 

(via acomas)

(Source: pitchblackglow, via p-raduhs)

(Source: royaul, via acrylic)

(Source: nylonpinksy, via hotstud69)

(Source: ofakind, via flawh)

(via astound)

(Source: blushingsprout, via ha-ze)

(Source: pinterest.com, via flawh)

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