It’s A Miracle We Ever Met by Hallie Bateman

can we still talk about twilight on here

congratulations to Minerva McGonagall on her pending retirement today, who is going to look down at her list of first years and see “James Sirius Potter” and just call it a fucking day

i write so much better when my heart is broken, maybe some people are meant to hurt so they can create beautiful things

Ask any woman & she’ll tell you why Eve bit / into that apple. Why she chose the universe instead / of you.

Topaz Winters, from “Witch in Red,” published in heather press  (via girlwoes)

who else wants to go on a drive at 1am until we forget about what’s bothering us

Well, you’ll break his heart and he’ll break yours. But you won’t forget each other, even if one day you walk past him and neither of you acknowledges it. That’s the thing about first loves, you never forget them, they are the only person who gets your whole untouched heart. They get all the love you’ve saved up for this moment and they get to keep it forever. You may never speak again but you can guarantee that you can still picture his eyes looking into yours as he said those three words, the way he kissed you afterwards and couldn’t stop repeating those words over and over until you were both too tired to speak. However you’ll also always remember the last time he said those three words, and told you that he was going to come back for you, the way he made you believe that a happy ending did exist for both of you. Those memories will come back to you in waves, all the firsts and all the lasts, the good and the bad, but what’s important is the fact that your first love is just that, the first but not the last.

from me to you (via gemmarambles)

I wanna make that boy fall in love with his smile

maybe all loves take a lifetime to get over.

excerpt from a book I'll never write

it’s 4:27 in the evening. it’s not a romantic time at all. the sun isn’t setting. nobody is going home to bed yet. nobody is waking up alone. it’s 4:27 and you’re on an express elevator going down and you feel the force of gravity as if it was sluicing up between your toes and without meaning to, as your stomach drops, you think of him. you think of roller coasters. you think of kissing him while both of your mouths are sticky with ice cream. you think of holding his hand in the back of a dark car, playing with his fingers for no other reason than to feel his skin brush yours. you think of cotton candy, of a burst of laughter, of the curve of his neck. you think of sighing against his shoulder, of his head resting on your lap, of city walks. the girl on the elevator with you asks, “are you okay?” you say you’re fine. “just got vertigo,” you explain. that feeling when you’re staring into a canyon and for a second, you know nothing is the same.

falling // r.i.d (via inkskinned)