The Girl With The Spotted Horse

I am just an artistic individual, living spontaneously, defining my life with unspoken colors. I am armed only with my imagination, my two lovely horses, camera, and my romance with the life I live. I might be weird, but it's all my life, it's all here.
Free Life

The last thing one discovers in composing a work is what to put first.

—Blaise Pascal, Pensées (via observando)

(via ilive2setyoufree)

Apologies for this, good Blogs.

So today someone told me they wanted to tell me the loved me, but didn’t use those words… And the words the used also screamed, you’re allowed to fall for me….

And then I got home and decided to stop tip toeing on eggshells with my best friend and I stomped the shit out of them… But normal was never a thing with him and I wanted to tell him that someone loves me and that I love them…. But he doesn’t seem to want to be my best friend anymore so I didn’t tell him. 

My dad said “We are moving,” and I heard the walls of the only home I’ve ever known begin to whisper the stories of my childhood; I felt the floors bleed up every quiet footfall at midnight going to get a glass of water; I saw the laughter from the swing-set rustle through the trees and I smelled the freshcut grass that always reminded me that my father is a landscaper, and that always seemed like the best job in the world.

But my best friend doesn’t want to be my best friend anymore. 

But someone wants to tell me they love me. 

And I am so, so…. scared. 

broadens:

like the earth pulling on the moon
and the moon pulling on the tide,
his lips gravitate
towards mine

(via gimenchis)