I’ve come to suspect that there are still a thousand other voices I haven’t found yet, and maybe only of few of them would be pure. – could be. Maybe.

“Life is boring, except for flowers, sunshine, your perfect legs. A glass of cold water when you are really thirsty. The way bodies fit together. Fresh and young and sweet. Coffee in the morning. These are just moments. I struggle with the in-betweens. I just want to never stop loving like there is nothing else to do, because what else is there to do?” - Pablo Neruda, Twenty Love Poems and Song of Despair

— Erada (via purplebuddhaquotes)

[Credits - Submitted by: ohhhhthatburns to 1000notes.com] Submit - What is this?

Marilyn Monroe, c. 1956.

Mood.

please.

Effigy

I couldn’t write a love song, exactly.

I couldn’t say it in just such a way, I can’t explain with a candour of assumption,  I wouldn’t be rambunctious enough to declare to be fair, I just couldn’t say I swear to God (without blushing) – 

I couldn’t write a love song, exactly. It’d smack of desperation, can’t explain the sensation of a million smiles that race through my head and the way you always said you would care (then you do),

I just couldn’t explain this feeling to you, if I tried.

Cause you know exactly how it feels inside.

<3

— r.m. drake (via purplebuddhaquotes)

Clothing:Meaning

Strip down for me and take away the presumptions that forge a wall between what we should and what you think we couldn’t possibly be.

Repressed to the background, while letting little pieces of your affection come around and give me a little tap, a little less than i’d kill to give back.

But reasons are reasons and you’ve got plenty, much more than just one to ignore me.