Second Blog

My dear Berlin,

your current windy, rainy, 10-degrees nature makes me want to crawl up in my sheets with the one I love after I get home just to watch the type of movies that make me cry while he holds me and maybe, maybe builds me a blanket fort afterwards to cheer me up again. Oh, and hot coco, please.

You know what I get to do instead? Go work my sweat at the gym. Seems equally cozy, nh?

I may need to start dating. I can feel it already, this winter is going to be cold.

6:55 pm     6 notes
September 22 2014

Oh wow. 
Earphones required.

(Source: pitched-music, via canyoufillthissilence)

2:21 pm     52,726 notes
September 22 2014

You kiss me in my dreams and my skin gets tight. You steal my heart right out of my mouth and I let you. I wake up sore and tired and spend my day groggily searching for the words to tell you that I’d have you in any way if you’d let me. I’ve never met you, but I’d kiss you in dark alleys and hold your hand in crowded subway cars and roll on top of you in the morning and let you hold me down at night, if you’d let me. I’d suffer a few thousand miles just to wake up every morning and know you are mine.

You kiss me in my dreams and I am a pulled canvas, waiting for you to come and touch me for the first time and paint every inch of my skin with what it means to be loved by you.

— Kristen Fiore // Art School Love Songs 

(via girlvswhale)

10:48 pm     275 notes
September 21 2014


I’ve learnt that no matter how many good people you surround yourself with, loneliness will kick into your spine just to let you know that he’s the only one who really understands you. That the best writing comes with the worst feelings and hearts aren’t symmetrical and breaking would be simpler than being bruised over and over in the very same spot. That an unanswered text can feel like that missing tooth your tongue keeps slipping back to even though you know that something’s gone. I’ve learnt that we have too many types for love, and not enough fonts that we’re willing to try. That I haven’t written an honest poem in months and I’m not sure what that makes me. 

My grandfather died. Everyday, I listen as my grandmother asks God why he didn’t take her with him and I wonder if love is really worth it at all even though I know that it is. I have this song that I promised myself I’d listen to on the plane ride I take out of all this bullshit, but I’ve forgotten its name. I want the place that feels like home and finally getting away all at the same time. It scares me that that place can be a person and people leave and stab and scar and always die. My grandfather died. Sometimes I remember the things he used to say to me but I’ve forgotten what his voice sounds like. 

I’m hoping that if I put enough honest things down on a page it’ll make it worth reading sometime. Is it possible to miss who you are going to become? Is there a name other than distance for the space between you and someone else, and if so, how do you make it go away? I can’t figure out why I feel like I have to apologize every time I tell someone how I feel. When did my own frayed flesh and clumsy blood become a burden in my own body? I want someone to kiss my chemistry, to catch my tantrums, to hold me on a rainy day and still know why my cheeks are wet. I want honest, I want what the shoreline gives to the sea- a reason to keep coming back; a reason to believe.

6:30 pm     77 notes
September 19 2014

Because goosebumps.

(Source: fyeahhozier)

9:24 pm     95 notes
September 18 2014

I want to come home to you and taste the waiting on your lips. I want the roses in my hand to fall on the floor because of the impact of your embrace. I want my nails etched into the trench of your back as you bury your head into my collarbone, while your lips unintentionally press against my neck. I want to feel the beating of your heart as it brings me to my knees. I want to taste the desire seeping through your skin and hear the distress exhaled of your lungs. I want your sigh of relief and I want you endlessly.
I want every inch of you as you’ve already taken me.

Connotativewords | jl | You and Me (via connotativewords)

(via connotativewords)

2:35 am     12,575 notes
September 18 2014


This place is cool but I am ready to go back to Berlin now.

^ Yup. Replacing the cool with phenomenal though.

10:13 am     4 notes
September 17 2014

Last day over here!

Last day over here!

6:36 pm      8 notes
September 16 2014

Maybe time didn’t heal wounds exactly, but it gave you a kind of armor, or a new perspective. A way to remember with a smile instead of a sob.

Kristin Hannah, Night Road 

(via jessicahaleyyo)

6:35 pm     2,533 notes
September 16 2014

6:25 pm      6 notes
September 16 2014

6:21 pm      7 notes
September 16 2014

No regrets. That’s the worst lie we could ever tell ourselves. For the things we could have done when we had the chance, it is like missing that last midnight train ride. You relentlessly wait for the next one to come never knowing it’s the last. You patiently carry the weight of your shoulders, rubbing your hands together to sustain the warmth. You’re terribly freezing but you don’t mind it at all. But after hours of standing there against the wall, you become numb, even more numb for next hours. And the pain becomes unbearable. There and then, all you can ever think about is regret. You start to regret why you came by the bookstore for some good reads before heading to the train station. You regret why you stopped by a coffee shop and had a few sip of tea before deciding to go home. You regret why you had to go back to the grocery store to buy your favorite chocolate chips. You regret every little things you did that day. You regret doing it when you could have done it in another time. You regret because you didn’t catch the last train. What’s more hurting than not able to take the last ride is knowing that someone was waiting for you on the other side. Waiting for you to arrive. That person could be gone by now, could have gone somewhere else. That person could not stand the wait. And you are there standing, hoping you’re just a little too late.

— Jann ray Banguis 

(Source: wnq-writers, via wnq-writers)

6:20 pm     773 notes
September 16 2014

6:13 pm      20 notes
September 16 2014

There are two kinds of people in this world. Those who walk into a room and say ‘Here I am’ and those who walk into a room and say, ‘There you are.

Ann Landers

(Source: psych-quotes, via filthyandfine)

5:57 pm     5,756 notes
September 16 2014

5:55 pm      1 note
September 16 2014