Cold As You

Falling In Love Is Like Falling Asleep Because I'm Holding On To Something That Isn't Mine To Keep
expressions-of-nature:

Pink Lake Hillier in Australia | Andrea Maizzi

Lake Hillier is a pink-colored lake on Middle Island, the largest of the islands and islets that make up the Recherche Archipelago, Western Australia. From above the lake appears a solid bubble gum pink.
Unlike other pink lakes in the world like the one in Retba and the salt ponds at San Francisco Bay, the pink color of Lake Hillier has not been decisively proved, although it is speculated that the color could arise from a dye created by the organisms Dunaliella salina and Halobacteria. Another hypothesis is that the pink color is due to red halophilic bacteria in the salt crusts. That the color is not a trick of light can be proved by taking water from the lake in a container – the pink color can be found to be permanent.  

Information Source: via Amusing Planet

expressions-of-nature:

Pink Lake Hillier in Australia | Andrea Maizzi

Lake Hillier is a pink-colored lake on Middle Island, the largest of the islands and islets that make up the Recherche Archipelago, Western Australia. From above the lake appears a solid bubble gum pink.

Unlike other pink lakes in the world like the one in Retba and the salt ponds at San Francisco Bay, the pink color of Lake Hillier has not been decisively proved, although it is speculated that the color could arise from a dye created by the organisms Dunaliella salina and Halobacteria. Another hypothesis is that the pink color is due to red halophilic bacteria in the salt crusts. That the color is not a trick of light can be proved by taking water from the lake in a container – the pink color can be found to be permanent.  

Information Source: via Amusing Planet

(via travelthisworld)

I’m messy beautiful
the kind of beautiful that you don’t see in yourself
but you know you have something worth fighting for.

I’m the scent of coconut left on your neck.
I’m cake before bed with no shirt on.
I’m a silly conversation after midnight.
I’m the cold against your body when I forget how to keep myself warm.
I’m that soft touch across your lips
and a quiet whisper after a long day,
come to bed let me love you.
come to bed let me love you.

I’m that odd artwork you find at the back of an old shop,
the one that needs a frame void of dust.
the artwork that is decent enough to hang on your walls,
the artwork you grow to admire.

I used to be sad for so many months
now I smile when I cry.
I smile when I cry.
some nights I take off my clothes
and slip under the sheets without setting my alarm clock.
some nights my bed reminds me that I’m small and vulnerable.

everywhere you look you see delicate wrists and soft curves.
everywhere you look you see ripped pages and ink stains.
I’m that messy beautiful that not everyone knows how to love,
the flower that wilts when you touch it.

I’m that messy beautiful that you want to love
but you’re just not sure how to.

when they say you’re too much soul for one person/d.a.h (via whisperingbones)

(via whisperingbones)

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the sound I heard when I was 9 and my father slammed the front door so hard behind him I swear to god it shook the whole house. For the next 3 years I watched my mother break her teeth on vodka bottles. I think she stopped breathing when he left. I think part of her died. I think he took her heart with him when he walked out. Her chest is empty, just a shattered mess or cracked ribs and depression pills.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s all the blood in the sink. It’s the night that I spent 12 hours in the emergency room waiting to see if my sister was going to be okay, after the boy she loved, told her he didn’t love her anymore. It’s the crying, and the fluorescent lights, and white sneakers and pale faces and shaky breaths and blood. So much blood.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the time that I had to stay up for two days straight with my best friend while she cried and shrieked and threw up on my bedroom floor because her boyfriend fucked his ex. I swear to god she still has tear streaks stained onto her cheeks. I think when you love someone, it never really goes away.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the six weeks we had a substitute in English because our teacher was getting divorced and couldn’t handle getting out of bed. When she came back she was smiling. But her hands shook so hard when she held her coffee, you could see that something was broken inside. And sometimes when things break, you can’t fix them. Nothing ever goes back to how it was. I got an A in English that year. I think her head was always spinning too hard to read any essays.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s that I do.

It’s not that I don’t love you.  (via extrasad)

this is so brilliant

(via hellotitsy)

(via langleav)

it was not ego that caused
you to fly too close,
it was the insatiable human
need to reach up and
dance among the galaxies

—a.c (via mythaelogy)

(Source: mhythology, via langleav)

If you can see a future without me and that doesn’t break your heart then we’re not doing what I thought we were doing here.

—That 70’s Show (via temperare-te)

(via 5000letters)

mariannapaige:

it took me over a year to be able to put this into words

mariannapaige:

it took me over a year to be able to put this into words

Lately I’ve been spending a good part of nearly every day thinking about love. Romantic love. The kind of love that involves french kissing and mix tapes and spooning in New York City in the summer when it’s by most people’s standards too disgustingly humid to spoon. The kind of love you wanna bring home to your grandma and say, “Grandma, look at this love! Just look at this LOVE!” Lately I’ve been thinking about who I want to love, and how I want to love, and why I want to love the way I want to love, and what I need to learn to love that way, and who I need to become to become the kind of love I want to be…….and when I break it all down, when I whittle it into a single breath, it essentially comes out like this: Before I die, I want to be somebody’s favorite hiding place, the place they can put everything they know they need to survive, every secret, every solitude, every nervous prayer, and be absolutely certain I will keep it safe. I will keep it safe.

—Andrea Gibson (via rarararambles)

(via whisperingbones)