I need my small, meaningless lies. I need all my self-created semi-truths. It’s the only way for me to keep exclusive parts of myself to myself. Believe me, I do not even perceive them as lies. It’s something different that keeps happening inside my head. At the same time, I long to tell you the truth about me, always. I want to share with you each important or unimportant detail and feel and fully embrace the very act of sharing. But it occurs to me that it’s the hardests of tasks; I hate it. I hate unveiling bits and pieces of anything permanent or temporary that resides in me. I loathe it with my heart. You can find more honesty in the smallest of my gestures rather in my words; my words are too impatient, too loose, too doomed in some way.
Anaïs Nin (via vcrgal)

(Source: rabbitinthemoon, via vcrgal)

(Source: ecainteasy, via archaic-fun)

(Source: modellove)

(Source: smeeeff, via vcrgal)

(Source: onetwoinfinity, via lnickels)

(Source: sickpage, via girlsandguns)

(Source: judyjetsons, via crowcrow)

(Source: sfilate, via crowcrow)

(Source: brrrzbrdz, via youth---quake)

(Source: angel-cine, via hoanbee)



1/185 Next »