serendipity.
6 hours ago | 15,322 notes | posted by: chelseaberes
You’ve a good heart. Sometimes that’s enough to see you safe wherever you go. But mostly, it’s not.

~ Neil Gaiman, Neverwhere (via observando)

6 hours ago | 675 notes | posted by: chelseaberes
How do you get so empty? Who takes it out of you?

~ Ray Bradbury Fahrenheit 451  (via loav)

6 hours ago | 101,018 notes | posted by: chelseaberes

nutella:

gettin real tired of my own bullshit

6 hours ago | 359,913 notes | posted by: chelseaberes
6 hours ago | 3,064 notes | posted by: chelseaberes

Got a heavy love
Rolling like thunder
Coming from above
Make sure that you’re under
Falling like the rain
Burning like fire
Got a heavy love
Oh, do you think you’re strong enough?

2331 plays 13 hours ago | 56 notes | posted by: chelseaberes

mountain-soundmusic:

Saw these guys last night. They opened up for Capital Cities and are on their first tour ever. Right now they have an EP out and this is their single on it. Their sound is very electronic and indie. Sounds like Bastille and The Naked and Famous. They are super nice people. Check em out!

14 plays 14 hours ago | 4 notes | posted by: chelseaberes
tylerknott:

Typewriter Series #757 by Tyler Knott Gregson
Text for Tired Eyes:
I want rainfall and I want your hair soaked in it.  I want green grass and light pouring in through tree branches and slow steady steps towards me.  I want the sound of nothing when it’s shared with you, I want to gasp as nothing always becomes something when your hand is in my hand and the night unfolds.  I want movies that play as we don’t bother watching them and I want kisses in the back of the theater when we forget people can see. I want popcorn spills and candy hands and the stillness we swear lives around us.  I want the noise rustling grocery bags make when you try to squeeze them to all be carried in one trip and I want the fullness of pantry shelves and I want the standing with hands on hips and long stares into them to unearth the secret of what dinner will consist of.  I want the slow motion fall of hair that was cut and I want the chuckling laughter when you cut a spot too short.  I want to watch the broom sweep back and forth and forth and back and I want to hold the dustpan to catch the cast aside pieces of me you no longer thought I needed.  I want your feet in my hands and my thumbs sore from pressing out the hours you spent on them.  I want laughter that comes on so suddenly that everyone around us thinks our tears are of sorrow and our breath abandoned us like we were sinking ships and the sea was filled with lifeboats.  I want to be the mirror that watches you disapprove of yourself and I want to be the voice that comes in at the perfect moment to say how beautiful the exact spot you didn’t know I knew you were staring at is.
Part Three.

tylerknott:

Typewriter Series #757 by Tyler Knott Gregson

Text for Tired Eyes:

I want rainfall and I want your hair soaked in it.  I want green grass and light pouring in through tree branches and slow steady steps towards me.  I want the sound of nothing when it’s shared with you, I want to gasp as nothing always becomes something when your hand is in my hand and the night unfolds.  I want movies that play as we don’t bother watching them and I want kisses in the back of the theater when we forget people can see. I want popcorn spills and candy hands and the stillness we swear lives around us.  I want the noise rustling grocery bags make when you try to squeeze them to all be carried in one trip and I want the fullness of pantry shelves and I want the standing with hands on hips and long stares into them to unearth the secret of what dinner will consist of.  I want the slow motion fall of hair that was cut and I want the chuckling laughter when you cut a spot too short.  I want to watch the broom sweep back and forth and forth and back and I want to hold the dustpan to catch the cast aside pieces of me you no longer thought I needed.  I want your feet in my hands and my thumbs sore from pressing out the hours you spent on them.  I want laughter that comes on so suddenly that everyone around us thinks our tears are of sorrow and our breath abandoned us like we were sinking ships and the sea was filled with lifeboats.  I want to be the mirror that watches you disapprove of yourself and I want to be the voice that comes in at the perfect moment to say how beautiful the exact spot you didn’t know I knew you were staring at is.

Part Three.

14 hours ago | 1,497 notes | posted by: chelseaberes
tylerknott:

Typewriter Series #756 by Tyler Knott Gregson
Text for Tired Eyes:
I want fireworks from mountaintops and lightning from windowsills.  I want lazy board games where rules forget to matter and I want shouting matches over important things.  I want a passion that burns through us and sets the sheets on fire.  I want to wake up covered in soot from the night before.  I want a hand to catch my head when my eyes fill up with water, and I want fingers to find my shoulders when the weight of a lifetime feels too heavy from time to time.  I want to be the tireless palms that rub the aches from your flesh and the kiss on the forehead after you fall asleep from it.  I want the steering wheel cold in my hands on the start of a morning road trip far from here and I want to be the sound of your legs stretching when we stop for gas.  I want the photos of every sign at the border of every state and I want my fingers slightly stained with the stamps from every visa in our passports.  I want the odor of strange food that snakes its way down long streets and the sound of boots on cobblestone and clay.
Part Two.

tylerknott:

Typewriter Series #756 by Tyler Knott Gregson

Text for Tired Eyes:

I want fireworks from mountaintops and lightning from windowsills.  I want lazy board games where rules forget to matter and I want shouting matches over important things.  I want a passion that burns through us and sets the sheets on fire.  I want to wake up covered in soot from the night before.  I want a hand to catch my head when my eyes fill up with water, and I want fingers to find my shoulders when the weight of a lifetime feels too heavy from time to time.  I want to be the tireless palms that rub the aches from your flesh and the kiss on the forehead after you fall asleep from it.  I want the steering wheel cold in my hands on the start of a morning road trip far from here and I want to be the sound of your legs stretching when we stop for gas.  I want the photos of every sign at the border of every state and I want my fingers slightly stained with the stamps from every visa in our passports.  I want the odor of strange food that snakes its way down long streets and the sound of boots on cobblestone and clay.

Part Two.

14 hours ago | 1,218 notes | posted by: chelseaberes
You are all the fight
and flame driven desire
that’s left inside me.
14 hours ago | 986 notes | posted by: chelseaberes
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