They had never met, you know. One of the most famous kisses, and it was a whim, spur of the moment.
(Source: s-k-e-l-e-t-0-n-s)
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Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don’t know how to replenish it’s source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of witherings, of tarnishings.
— Anais Nin (via kari-shma)
and maybe we have to break everything to make something better out of ourselves
(Source: patriciandfriends)
(Source: fragiletimes)
(Source: sacredsaints)
