one saturday, i won’t have anywhere to go.
at 9:07, i’ll find you next to me
kiss your forehead
and go back to sleep
one saturday, i’ll make a slow breakfast.
while you’re in the shower,
i’m making the coffee
and you’re slipping your arms around me
one saturday, we’ll be together.
wandering farmers markets
snapping pictures of each other,
one saturday, i’ll go to sleep.
knowing that life can’t get better
that i’m not dreaming
that i’m finally home.
— Jonathan Gottschall, The Storytelling Animal: How Stories Make Us Human (via afigureofspeech)
*dr who theme*
my blueberry muffin looks exactly like my dog I’m gonna cry
I hope your fucking birthday is fucking great. I hope you get piles upon piles of gifts. So many fucking gifts that they just fucking take over your damn apartment or whatever. Just, things, everyfuckingwhere. I hope the Loki paraphernalia comes to life and start crawling all over you and pinching your sweet little ass. I hope this is the goddamn year where your shirt buttons finally give and pop off and hit an interviewer in the eye. I hope there’s more
obscene pelvic thrusting"snake hips." I hope you eat too much fucking cake and take a goddamn nap.
(I just really feel like you need a nap, okay?? You’re working so hard.)
Just… AUGH. HAVE GREAT FUCKING BIRTHDAY, YOU PELVIC THRUSTING FUCK.
Nothing can compare to books and writing while it’s raining.
— Ernest Hemingway (via align)
can you just get the fuck over here I wanna kiss your stupid face and fall asleep to your stupid heartbeat