I pity those who long for tidiness. A clean house, a made bed, tidy hair, a structured lifestyle; all for what purpose? Those who are punctual when time is merely a concept. Carrying out mundane chores whilst fighting against a clock. Why make a bed only to return to it the next night…

If we stop defining our significant relationships only as those that are romantic or sexual, being single will take on a whole new meaning. If we broaden our emotional focus from the person we share bodily fluids with to the sum of our friendships, acquaintances, and colleagues, our communities will grow stronger. If we stop treating penetrative sex as the be all and end all of physical intimacy, we will experience greater heights of pleasure. And if we can accept that although sex can be ecstatic and affirming and fulfilling, it is not all those things to all people all of the time, we will relieve it of some of its cultural baggage.

The Atlantic - Life Without Sex:  The Third Phase of the Asexuality Movement (via postmodernbutttouch)

so important 

(via i-am—fine)


Why sleep when you can regret life choices

I love unmade beds. I love when people are drunk and crying and cannot be anything but honest in that moment. I love the look in people’s eyes when they realize they’re in love. I love the way people look when they first wake up and they’ve forgotten their surroundings. I love the gasp people take when their favorite character dies. I love when people close their eyes and drift to somewhere in the clouds. I fall in love with people and their honest moments all the time. I fall in love with their breakdowns and their smeared makeup and their daydreams. Honesty is just too beautiful to ever put into words.
(via hopelesslyhealing)

(Source: freckledhips)

I became a writer because I thought, perhaps, I could rewrite my history, and create a better future. If I were to take nonsensical words, string them together, and wrap them in a pretty bow, then maybe this ache in my chest would lessen. I thought if I were to create beautiful words, then I would, in turn, become beautiful.

It’s been ten years. My chest still aches; and my words are still more beautiful than I will ever be.

(174/365) by (DS)


Everything is so loud; it’s so busy and complicated and exhausting. It’s a similar feeling to when you’re standing outside a building that has really loud music on the inside, but all you can hear is the thumping and the humming of whatever song is being played; and you can’t quite work out the…