this is mildly terrifying, considering i have an irrational fear of, like, building sized praying mantises

Little Mix - Good Enough (HD) - O2 Arena - 25.05.14

I am learning every day to allow the space between where I am and where I want to be to inspire me and not terrify me. —Tracee Ellis Ross (via wordsthat-speak)


couldn’t have had a more beautiful day to be reunited with a friend. (92/365)



Literally me when I hurt people

oh god oh god oh god im so sorry is it here did i hurt you here oh god im so sorry friend

“I used to think I was the strangest person in the world but then I thought there are so many people in the world, there must be someone just like me who feels bizarre and flawed in the same ways I do. I would imagine her, and imagine that she must be out there thinking of me too. Well, I hope that if you are out there and read this and know that, yes, it’s true I’m here, and I’m just as strange as you.” - Frida Kahlo


Detail from stairs of Palazzo EIAR, by Gio Ponti, 1939, in Milan, Italy.


Garden of Allah

Artist: Maxfield Parrish

/kiçiek takes his own poisons


I’ve just gotten to know this (which idk why I’ve not before bc it’s the cutest story) but omg this is so sweet.


So the little boy in the gif was born with cerebral palsy and couldn’t move at all and he had to overcome a lot. He adores football and has ever since he could remember and plays as a goalkeeper, and after he was selected to go in the stadium he said he really wanted to go with Manu, bc he was his fave and he loved him.

He realized most goalkeepers were second in line and asked the lady that selected them to the players to be second, praying he’d get to stand next to Manu. Cutest part? He actually learned some German words so he could be able to talk to him. He said it was the happiest day of his life and he tried to stay serious but he couldn’t stop smiling.

He also said Manu was really sweet, very big and also pretty.

Between us the wind
is a word seeking a shape,
hovering in passion
and risen from the ground
of memory clenched
in roots and long tendrils.
Hearing that, knowing ourselves
wingless and bestial, we wait
for the sun to blow out,
for the return of that first
morning of pink blossoms
when we saw the dark stains
of our feet printing
what we were on that
dew-bed of the world.
The tree, too, waits
in its old unraveling
toward a naked silence,
its language wild and shocked. —Dave Smith, closing lines to “In the Yard, Late Summer, from Floating on Solitude: Three Volumes of Poetry (University of Illinois Press, 1996)