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I’m 20 years old
I shouldn’t have acne
But I’m pretty sure my acne is worse now then it’s ever been

And I never did anything before I met you.

(Source: cyberqueer, via flovver-fauxxes)


Anatomy by Aitch

(via flovver-fauxxes)

Brett Whiteley (Australian, 1939-1992), The Divided Unity, 1974. Screenprint, 66.5 x 93.5 cm. Edition 63/70.

(Source: blastedheath, via flovver-fauxxes)


I hate writing on Chaucer. 

(via englishmajorhumor)

It’s like watching a train barreling towards you. With one conversation, I’m bracing myself for the pain that is losing the first man I’ve ever loved. With one conversation, all the trust I’ve built up over the past year has been placed to balance on the head of a needle. I’m reminded once again that I have no control, there is no control in life, we are all at the mercy of what happens to us. We can make choices and changes and efforts to make things go one way, but there will always be the variable, the rouge result that you wished with every ounce of you wouldn’t happen. The worst part is, it hasn’t even happened, but the threat has made itself visible. Visible like a dog snarling three inches from my face. Or like when I lean over my teapot and let the steam caress my face, pool in the valleys of my eyes, fill my nose, permeate my pores. It’s so close, yet completely intangible, and could dissipate without a trace in a matter of seconds, if I’m lucky. 

This too, if we’re going to be positive, is a good reality check. It reminds me of the transience of my relationship, reminds me that it might not always be around (duh) and forces me to retreat into my world and find those things within myself, my own constants to comfort me. I surrounded myself with a few yesterday, having lunch with my parents, ordering a cup of green tea and then ordering another, listening to old music I love, spending a little too much money on fresh smelling facial cleansers and minty face masks. These things and many more, they will always be my things, for now nobody can take these little happinesses away from me, and these are the little things that will keep me afloat when the flood hits. 

" Am I in love with you or am I just used to you ? "

So I saw this advice


Find three hobbies you love: one to make you money, one to keep you in shape, and one to be creative.

I kind of like it.

(Source: fuckiminmytwenties, via killthe-noise)

To be perfectly honest

If I were to live out my life working menial jobs, if I could get by, I don’t think I’d care all that much. We’ll see if that changes in the future, I guess, but for now I’m pretty content and I can’t see a time in the future when I won’t be pleased with a semi-satisfying job instead of a sparkling career.



When I was a kid I thought your 20s were supposed to be fun, not filled with perpetual anxiety about financial stability and constantly feeling like an unaccomplished piece of shit. 

That’s because it was fun for baby boomers and they basically gave us this impression it would always be like that, but then they ruined the economy.

(Source: curseofthefanartlords, via everlarkdandelions)