Remember:
poisontome:

Take me here
Artist:
The Last Shadow Puppets

Track Name:
"I Want You So Bad (She's So Heavy)"

Album Name:
LIVE from Electric Proms 2008

Play Count:
33985 times
posted 10 hours ago with 7,489 notes
"turn the lights off
don’t call them back
undress yourself slowly
quietly, without apologizing
sleep until lunch
skip work
wash them off of your skin
dig them out from underneath
your fingernails
do not get out of the shower until
you smell like yourself again
order Chinese food
spend the entire day with yourself
learn how to conquer all the places
you used to go together
walk the earth like you are
Queen Elizabeth
like you can rule an entire kingdom
without sharing your bed
take off your sadness
drape it over a clothesline and air out
the clouds
touch yourself like you’re made of gold
like you glow
like countries would go to war just to hold you
in their arms
be alone
call your parents, they miss you
get drunk,
count how many times you bring them up
practice the art of forgetting
rejoice in yourself
celebrate your solitude
keep your closet doors open
and vacuum the dust from the corners
don’t let them haunt you
don’t let them find their way back into your mouth"
how to recover | Caitlyn S. (via alonesomes)

2401

"Some people bring out the worst in you, others bring out the best, and then there are those remarkably rare, addictive ones who just bring out the most. Of everything. They make you feel so alive that you’d follow them straight into hell, just to keep getting your fix."(via solacity)

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kalories1:

h-arlot:

i love this so much

!!!!!!
4rcticmankeys:

toxicvnt:

The storm was scary

But tap on the picture tho
"I love you
more
than the number
of threads
in all the sheets
we’ll ever sleep on
together."

more than the number of breaths I’ve taken,
more than the number I’ve yet to take

liz (7.25.2014)


118

"Kiss her. Slowly, take your time, there’s no place you’d rather be. Kiss her but not like you’re waiting for something else, like your hands beneath her shirt or her skirt or tangled up in her bra straps. Nothing like that. Kiss her like you’ve forgotten any other mouth that your mouth has ever touched. Kiss her with a curious childish delight. Laugh into her mouth, inhale her sighs. Kiss her until she moans. Kiss her with her face in your hands. Or your hands in her hair. Or pulling her closer at the waist. Kiss her like you want to take her dancing. Like you want to spin her into an open arena and watch her look at you like you’re the brightest thing she’s ever seen. Kiss her like she’s the brightest thing you’ve ever seen. Take your time. Kiss her like the first and only piece of chocolate you’re ever going to taste. Kiss her until she forgets how to count. Kiss her stupid. Kiss her silent. Come away, ask her what 2+2 is and listen to her say your name in answer."Azra.T “this is how you keep her” (via 5000letters)

113036

america-wakiewakie:

The boy who clung to the paramedic: the story behind the photo | Electronic Intifada 
This photo of a boy injured in an Israeli strike clinging to a medic at al-Shifa hospital went viral on the Internet.
Thursday night, 17 July, was the heaviest yet since Israel’s bombardment of Gaza began almost two weeks ago.
Dozens of people arrived to Gaza City’s al-Shifa hospital, where I was on shift that night. Some arrived torn to pieces, some beheaded, some disfigured beyond recognition, although still alive and breathing.
Seemingly indiscriminate artillery fire, a new element in Israel’s assault, had exacted a heavy toll on civilians.
The medical staff were lucky to get a break of less than half an hour. Some spent it watching the flares and bombs Israel was raining on the eastern neighborhoods of Gaza City, while others refueled with coffee or lay down for a few moments.
The relative calm did not last long. At around 3am, about eight or nine casualties arrived at the emergency room all at once. The last to come in were four siblings — two of them little children, both about three years old, with relatively superficial wounds. But it was clear they were pulled from under rubble, their faces and clothes covered in dirt and dust.
Then came the older of the four siblings, a boy in his early teens. His head and face were covered in blood and he was pressing a rag to his head to stanch the flow. But his focus was on something else: “Save my little brother!” he kept screaming.
The last to arrive was his brother, the child in the above photo that circulated around the world.
"I want my father!"
He was carried in by a paramedic and immediately rushed to the intensive care unit, which is right next to the ER. He clung to the paramedic, crying, “I want my father, bring me my father!” until he had to be forced to let go.
As I stood by, alert for orders, a group of four medical personnel immediately started to treat the boy. But he kept kicking and screaming and calling for his father.
His injuries were serious: a wound to the left side of his head which could indicate a skull fracture and a large piece of shrapnel in his neck. Another piece of shrapnel had penetrated his chest and a third had entered his abdomen. There were many smaller wounds all over his body.
Immediate measures had to be taken to save his life; he was sedated so the medics could get to work.
Upon carefully examining the wounds, it appeared that the explosion from the artillery round sent flying small pieces of stone from the walls of his house, and that some of his wounds were caused by these high-velocity projectiles.
He was extremely lucky: his neck injury was just an inch away from a major artery, his chest injury penetrated all the way through but failed to puncture his lung, and his abdomen was struck by shrapnel that just missed his bowel.
Luck
He had a stroke of luck denied to many that night.
The medics performed heroic measures in a remarkably short time, and the little boy’s life was saved.
Meanwhile in the emergency room, the elder brother was stitched up and the younger two siblings were washed and thoroughly examined for possible hidden injuries.
Somehow, despite the horror and the pain, they were sleeping. I don’t know how they did it, but I felt envious and grateful for the divine mercy that found its way to them.
Their brother with the most serious wounds will almost certainly survive, but with many scars and a difficult recovery period, both physical and psychological.
Too many casualties came in that night, too many for me to get this boy’s name, to know whether he was reunited with his father, or even what became of the rest of his family.
But there’s one thing that I know for sure, which is that hundreds of children just like him suffered similar or worse injuries, and up to the moment of this writing, nearly eighty children just like him have been killed as Israel’s merciless attack goes on.
Belal Dabour is a recently graduated doctor from Gaza, Palestine. He blogs at belalmd.wordpress.com.
(Photo Credit: Ezz al-Zanoun / APA images)
sixpenceee:

Underside of old frying pans by Christopher Jonassen
"Someone asked what it was that I like about you and that made me realize that I never really sat down to think about it, because I never had to. I just somehow knew that I was attracted to you, like gravity pulled me closer to you each time I try to move away.

So I said, “I like him because the first second we met, it all clicked. There was no need to put up a front or break down walls, it was all effortless. I laughed at his jokes and he laughed at mine, even when they weren’t funny but it was humorous to us and I guess that’s important. I like the fact that I didn’t have to try to keep up the conversation, it flowed gently and I didn’t need to cover my mouth when I would blurt something out and he never thought I needed a filter. He understood, or he tried his best to understand the things that I went through with my family and my friends and myself. And for the things he didn’t get, he listened.

He listened carefully and he remembered it all. Like once when we were eating, he said he wanted to offer me a bite of his chicken but I didn’t eat meat so I couldn’t have it anyway. I thought that was sincerely nice of him since no one remembered about my diet even after the millionth time I’d remind them. But he did, and I only had to mention it once. I never had to remind him after that.

When it comes to him, I like his motivation. I like his mind. I like the way his brain functions, a bit more mature than anyone I’ve ever known. I like that he cares more about Sunday mornings than Friday nights.I like that he enjoys Thirty Thursdays but can handle a week filled with hard work and late nights. He’s like that son every mother wants to have, aspiring to be someone some day even though I think he’s more than halfway there. And he is a mama’s boy, and I love that about him even more.

Above it all, I think I really like him for the way he makes me better. He makes me want to be a better person. He, is a golden child. He is so good; my best friend once called me a Saint but I am Satan next to him.He motivates me to find a place for myself, to work for a title, and to never give up. He once asked to read my work and I said no, but in my head I was thinking yes, hell yes. With him, I never had to be a simmered down version of myself. I didn’t care about how loudly I laughed and how obnoxious it sounded, I was me. I was free. And I have to say, the thing I like about him the most was that he always gave me an answer instead of an excuse, no matter how many questions I asked, and the ones I was afraid to ask.”"

A Story A Day #197 by M.D.L

(via avvfvl)

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