yup yup
(Source: impulsive-and-inlove, via her-lost-thoughts)
(Source: dontyouever-giveup, via her-lost-thoughts)
If only I could visit you as a foreigner goes into a new country, learn the language of you, wander past all borders into every private and secret place, I would stay forever. I would become a citizen of you.
—Lisa Kleypas (via vvolare)
One night President Obama and his wife Michelle decided to do something out of routine and go for a casual dinner at a restaurant that wasn’t too luxurious. When they were seated, the owner of the restaurant asked the President’s Secret Service if he could please speak to the First Lady in private. They obliged and Michelle had a conversation with the owner. Following this conversation President Obama asked Michelle, “Why was he so interested in talking to you?” She mentioned that in her teenage years, he had been madly in love with her. President Obama then said, “So if you had married him, you would now be the owner of this lovely restaurant,” to which Michelle responded, “No. If I had married him, he would now be the President.”
get it girl
z snap
(Source: lvmrsmn, via her-lost-thoughts)
(via her-lost-thoughts)
ylub:
wow, what book?!
WHAT BOOKK SERIOUSLY
someone put us out of our miseryyyyyy
this is my picture! please don’t change the source!
and the book is called perfect for you by kate perry :)
i really hope its not by the katy perry im thinking of
Why? Is the Katy Perry a bad person? Does she insult and underestimate anyone like you do now?
(via her-lost-thoughts)
(via queengeorgiana)
They danced their little courtship full of broken eggshells and apologetic smiles, their touch became awkward and yet laced with such itching desire to consume each other, to fall foul of the wrath that simmered just beneath their skin. Hers for the truth she wanted to purge from him, the anger at her betrayal to herself for refusing it. His for the demons that were awoken and raking at his skin to get out, the memories of old, of the secrets kept from others, making this feel as empty, and as worthless.
Here she now lay in sheets drenched with her own lust, writhing in a rage against her own touch, under his watchful gaze and commanding instruction. He couldn’t trust himself to touch her, though he knew the addiction to physical release he had instilled in her, needed his guidance to keep her safe. He feared without his touch, she would finally break and seek it elsewhere. He felt himself breathless and clawing as she reached her heady peek, as she surrendered with a scream to the ecstasy she so craved, his fingers gripping the glass tumbler until his knuckles were white, gritting his teeth he stood and walked to the foot of the bed where she lay panting and wild.
He closed his eyes, for he dreaded to see the hatred in hers, and said
“I fear what harm I would do, I fear to touch you Little One”.
(Source: thestoryischangingg, via queengeorgiana)
