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Born In The Wrong Era

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sirpeter64:

The Beatles performing on Ed Sullivan during their second trip to NYC.1965.

(via thebeatlesordie)

(Source: vinylespassion, via bad-mo0d)

“ but the real hurting begins when he magically decides he doesn’t love you anymore. he doesn’t want you to step inside his apartment bringing his favourite cookies that he knew you baked, but all along you secretly ordered from your friend who studies culinary because you know you can’t cook to save your life. all because you don’t want to disappoint him. you should have done the leaving the moment you felt that way. he left you, you have to remember that. you won’t find him covered in your duvets you’ve possessed since you were four, sewed by your grandmother. you won’t find your prescribed pills and a glass of water ready on your bed table every morning, as long as you were in his arms the night before. there will be no soft jazz music, no late night walks in the park, no one to rub your back when you’re angry. no one to listen when you talk about your friends and their crazy boyfriends. it’s going to be absent, how he treats your friends and family like they matter to him too. you will miss that. no one to be protective of you. no more warm arms you call your home. no more scolding regarding your long and dirty finger nails. no more pouty lips, and you know what pouty lips mean. sex in the car. sex in the kitchen table. sex in the bathroom. sex on the fucking floor. no more secret glances in a sea of people who judge you from what designer dress you’re wearing. no more debates regarding lou reed vs. leonard cohen. no more pictures while he sleeps. you look for the watch he gave you for your birthday, and all you want to do is smash it on the wall. like he did with your heart. the part of the process of forgetting is to realize alcohol and drugs won’t remove the part of him he left inside of you. so when you see him walking in the street, with a pretty ginger head clinging to him, all you have to do is kiss him on the cheek, whisper quietly, “thank you for giving me a part of you.” don’t tell him it’s still living inside of you. ”

—    a.s., “im scared because i wrote this in a span of six minutes” (via mossyribs)

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whilted:

R U Mine?

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m9300:

my best friend Emily on the roof

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