I wanna be like him when I grow up.
(Source: constanceandana, via hallucinating-thoughts)
When My Dad Calls Me Son
It comforts me on this crazy deep level. Makes me feel like I’m a child again. His child.
To be specific.
And aw man, then I get to refer to him as “dad.”
The little things. Appreciate what you have.
(via pushthemovement)
One of the worst parts of this whole experience is that I feel like I can fall apart at any moment. I’m very clearly on the right path, doing all the right things. I know it and people around me say it. But I can’t seem to shake this urge to do something completely counter-intuitive to that. To do wrong. To destroy. To be ugly. To be selfish. To be lazy. To be arrogant. To be a downer. To be ignorant. To be fearful. To be weak. I carry all of this around with me wherever I go. I can almost physically feel it. But I can never act on any of it. Because right now I’m bare-assed in the wilderness and every step I take is a matter of survival.
What a feeling.
My cup’s been filled with death, tears, pain, and hopelessness and I’ve been trying my hardest to make this concoction taste like last year’s ingredients. But I can’t. So what am I supposed to do with this cup? Who will drink from it?
Shit is crazy, breh.
“Well, there was a girl named Christmas
Did I tell you she drank gold?
She wasn’t very hard to capture
But she was rather hard to hold”
