“I know these will all be stories someday and all our pictures will become old photographs. We’ll all become somebody’s mum or dad. But right now, these moments aren’t stories. This is happening… This one moment where you know you’re not a sad story. You’re alive.”

meladoodle:

THREE DAY WEEKENDS 
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“God, who am I? I sit in the library tonight, the lights glaring overhead, the fan whirring loudly. Girls, girls everywhere, reading books. Intent faces, flesh pink, white, yellow. And I sit here without identity: faceless. My head aches… I’m lost.”

– Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath  (via h-o-r-n-g-r-y)

absolutcute:

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