#the virgin suicides

i own way too many female manipulator books, but that’s not me being a walking red flag, but rather a hot sexy beautiful girlbossing misandrist <3

feels like the virgin suicides

The Virgin Suicides (1999, Sofia Coppola, USA)

girls nights and burial rites

pretty girl poetry clubs every full moon in the astronomy tower. spilled tea and flickering candles. dancing ‘til your feet are numb and your heart is still.

dedicated to those moments when you look at your friends and try desperately to hold onto the present, knowing full well you will grieve for this tomorrow

whoever allowed me internet access at the tender age of ten deserves a life sentence and a few hail marys to seal the deal

“the book ive been reading rests on my knee. you sleep. it’s beautiful out there - fields, little lakes and winter trees in february sunlight…your hand in my hand, still warm, still warm” - wendy cope

you dear, dear man. how i adore you

all my friends were vampires 

it’s 1994 and you’re babysitting your neighbours kids while a monster roams around the town. you’ve heard the ghost stories and the news reports but your dads rifle is out of ammo and there’s a rapping at the door 

all the mirrors are smashed and all the photo albums are burnt and you feel better than everyone else for a moment or two 

the smell of dew atop petals in the morning. fog surrounding your car as you and your closest friends drive into the nothingness. the feeling of nans knitted jumpers and watery hot chocolates from struggling coffee stores. those songs from childhood burnt into a cd and sung at the top of your lungs. 

i’m a creep. i’m a weirdo. i don’t fit it and i  don’t want to fit in. ever seen me without this stupid commie pin on? that’s weird.

swinging on the creaky swing-set at your local park