but what if instead of getting drunk we all got sober like what if we were all constantly drunk and then on the weekends we get sober at night and have tea and intelligent conversations and then the next morning we’d wake up drunk again like “man i was so sober last night i think i figured out a cure for cancer”
i hate how girls give guys all these expectations as a boyfriend like to buy the best valentine’s day gift or to always text back or to pay for every dinner i mean seriously if youre my boyfriend we can just makeout and eat chinese food i dont care
“Sometimes you’re 23 and standing in the kitchen of your house making breakfast and brewing coffee and listening to music that for some reason is really getting to your heart. You’re just standing there thinking about going to work and picking up your dry cleaning. And also more exciting things like books you’re reading and trips you plan on taking and relationships that are springing into existence. Or fading from your memory, which is far less exciting. And suddenly you just don’t feel at home in your skin or in your house and you just want home but “Mom’s” probably wouldn’t feel like home anymore either. There used to be the comfort of a number in your phone and ears that listened everyday and arms that were never for anyone else. But just to calm you down when you started feeling trapped in a five-minute period where nostalgia is too much and thoughts of this person you are feel foreign. When you realize that you’ll never be this young again but this is the first time you’ve ever been this old. When you can’t remember how you got from sixteen to here and all the same feel like sixteen is just as much of a stranger to you now. The song is over. The coffee’s done. You’re going to breathe in and out. You’re going to be fine in about five minutes.”—The Winter of the Air (via dirtyhands)
You never really know a girl until you talk to her four in the morning. All day she masks behind books, make up, pretty clothes, an attitude, and the fakest of smiles. But in the darkest parts of the night and the earliest parts of the morning, she breaks from her shell and opens her heart. The beat changes, her voices’ medley trembles, her eyes bat away tears. You never really know a girl until you speak to her soul, four in the morning.