A deep, dark, hard, sweaty, meditative yoga class is like a shot of espresso and a shot of wheatgrass and a shot of whiskey mixed with a good romp all in one. You walk in there a zombie and walk out in total bliss.
This is why I Yoga. ✌️
No I’m not following the World Cup tournament. The last time I cared about a special Cup, Cedric Diggory died.
All I’ve done is watch Orange Is The New Black
basically 95% of the population yesterday and today
breakfast, lunch, and dinner
There’s that word again. Need. I need you. I need you to need me. How nauseating, to need another human being, as if their heart is in your throat. Love isn’t about need. Don’t romanticize the notion of desperation. Let me let you in on a secret: you don’t need me and I don’t need you. We can get through life just fine without each other. Love is not wanting to. We want each other, we want skin and hands and all our daily scars. We want intoxication and art museums and intertwined limbs. We want ferocity in our lips and tracing slow, small circles on our stomachs. I don’t need you in my life, but goddamn I want you in it.
All the Want in the World Cannot Fit in Our Hands (via punkrockmermaid)