I feel you.
OCD.
(Source: teddy-picker-am, via pushthemovement)
"I’m in love with you. Yeah, it’s that bad. You’re so beautiful to me. Shut up, let me tell you, let me. Every time I look at your face, or even remember it, it wrecks me. And the way you are with me, and you’re just fun and you shit all over me and you make fun of me and you’re real. I don’t have enough time in any day, to think about you enough. I feel like I’m gonna live a thousand years cause that’s how long it’s gonna take me to have one thought about you, which is that I’m crazy about you. I don’t wanna be with anybody else. I don’t. I really don’t. I don’t think about women anymore. I think about you. I had a dream the other night that you and I were on a train. We were on this train and you were holding my hand. That’s the whole dream, you were holding my hand and I felt you holding my hand. I woke up and I couldn’t believe it wasn’t real. I’m sick in love with you. It’s like a condition, it’s like polio. I feel like I’m gonna die if i can’t be with you and I can’t be with you, so I’m gonna die and I don’t care cause I was brought into existence to know you, and that’s enough. The idea that you would want me back? It’s like, greedy."
—
Louie.
Since I read this I can’t stop thinking about it. That eerie feeling that someone got inside your head, took every word and wrote them down in the very order you thought them.
(Source: ballingelicash)
Aaaaaaa
(via zablueghost)
Developing such a passion for Rothko can’t be a good sign.
Untitled (1963) by Mark Rothko
Basically
(via graceyu)
“Glowing bioluminescent plankton in the tide line washes up onto a beach on Vaadhoo Island, Raa Atoll, Maldives, with stars above and a ship’s lights on the horizon”.
(Source: nevver)
pretty much
(via diemkay)
