I have never thought about it in this context

that’s actually really, really creepy.

I… fuck.

Yeah, basically.

I once pointed this out to my mother and she just stared at me, in stunned silence for ages. 

There will always be a girl who is less sober, less secure, with less friends walking in a darker part of town. I want her safe just as much as I want me safe.

(via divingintothedeepend)

“We’re all seeking that special person who is right for us. But if you’ve been through enough relationships, you begin to suspect there’s no right person, just different flavors of wrong. Why is this? Because you yourself are wrong in some way, and you seek out partners who are wrong in some complementary way. But it takes a lot of living to grow fully into your own wrongness. And it isn’t until you finally run up against your deepest demons, your unsolvable problems—the ones that make you truly who you are—that we’re ready to find a lifelong mate. Only then do you finally know what you’re looking for. You’re looking for the wrong person. But not just any wrong person: the right wrong person—someone you lovingly gaze upon and think, “This is the problem I want to have.”
I will find that special person who is wrong for me in just the right way.
Let our scars fall in love.”
— Galway Kinnell (via hqlines)

(via kushandwizdom)

Countries of Latin America

Countries of Latin America

Countries of Latin America

Countries of Latin America

(via thiagoavlis)

It works like this:

He takes your hand and swears he loves you. And sometimes the words don’t even leave his mouth but you think you know.

And he cracks open your ribs, all the while muffling your protests. He promises it won’t hurt and you believe him even though something screams at you to run.

And with his hands around your throat you swear this can’t be right. But he caresses your hair and suddenly you could listen to his lies forever.

It works like this:

He makes you laugh and he makes you cry and somewhere along the way you stop knowing which is which. He pushes you against the wall and you mistake it for passion, and you apologize for overreacting when his nails leave marks on your skin.

But one day you don’t recognize your reflection anymore and you find the life has been drained right out. You realize he shouldn’t be trying to subdue the glow in your eyes and the fire in your heart.

And the day you leave, your ribs will finally begin to heal. His hand prints will slowly disappear until you will swear they were never there at all.

It works like this:

In two years you won’t remember the sound of his footsteps but right now they’re all you hear.

And soon you won’t see him in everything and his face will not be in every crowd.

You will feel him slipping away and that is the scariest part of all.

— Excerpt from a book I’ll never write #60 - "I am recovering from an abusive relationship. Can you write about PTSD?" (via blossomfully)

You’re going to be sad.
You’re going to want to scream and punch things.
Do it.
Let out every ounce of anger you have.
Sit on the floor and cry until you feel numb.
Listen to songs that make your heart sink to your feet.
Write angry letters to all the people who have broken you, left you, ignored you or hurt you.
Throw your hairbrush at the wall.
Do it twelve times.
Do it until you feel like you can breathe again.

You’re going to be sad.
You’re going to want to hurt yourself.
Don’t you dare do it.
Sit on the floor and watch cartoons like you did when you were little.
Listen to songs that make you want to dance around your bedroom in your underwear at 3 A.M.
Make paper airplanes out of those angry letters and watch them soar into the fireplace.
Brush all the knots out of your hair and say “I am worth it” into the mirror.
Say it twelve times.
Say it until you feel like you can breathe again.

You’re going to be sad.
You’re going to get through it.

— things i wish i could make you understand  (via deliriosity)

(via deliriosity)


follow my insta- @theofficialblairsloan x


follow my insta- @theofficialblairsloan x



Can we talk about this picture? I have a lot of feelings about this scene. He’s not screaming at the referee, he is not trying to freeze the match. The ball is already half pitch away and the game is still going, but when Ney says he can’t feel his legs, Marcelo screams at the benchs. He screams at the paramedics and the staff and anyone to just freaking help him. He’s not asking for a fucking foul, a card, any kind of punishment, he just needs to get some help soon, because he’s freaking out. You see, by his position, how he was trying to help him move. When he realizes he can’t, he stays there, one leg around Neymar’s leg, in a fiercely protective stance, begging for help. At that moment, Marcelo was every single brazilian watching the game.

Help. The wonder boy is down.

(Also would like to point out how they play for rival clubs. Actually, rival giants.)


(via neymarbles)


it is ridiculous how much I miss the World Cup and how much I loved every aspect about it

(via barcabaes)

Training of German NT








(via findingneymar)