22, exiled to the desert, future chef, brooklyn bound.

We met at the wrong time. That’s what I keep telling myself anyway. Maybe one day years from now, we’ll meet in a coffee shop in a far away city somewhere and we could give it another shot.
— Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, 2004 (via feellng)

(via highh-regard)

Brooklyn’s too cold tonight
& all my friends are three years away.
My mother said I could be anything
I wanted—but I chose to live.
On the stoop of an old brownstone,
a cigarette flares, then fades.
I walk towards it: a razor
sharpened with silence.
A jawline etched in smoke.
The mouth where I’ll be made
new again. Stranger, palpable
echo, here is my hand, filled
with blood thin as a widow’s
tears. I am ready. I am ready
to be every animal
you leave behind.
— "Thanksgiving, 2006," Ocean Vuong (via commovente)

(via 98701)

107 Plays

Fitzpleasure - Alt-J

(Source: , via 98701)

Maybe I’m getting tired – I can’t think of anything but nights with you. I want them warm and silvery.
— Zelda Fitzgerald, “Letter to F. Scott Fitzgerald,” May 1919 (via portails)

(Source: wordsnquotes, via portails)

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