Anonymous asked: Why are you lonely?

hooked-on-hookah:

المخرج عاوز كده

My life, basically.

(Source: popcultureprodigy)

(Source: hyades)

Anonymous asked: Do pretty girls fart

biryaniii:

idk ask a pretty girl

Colonialism is when bees bust their asses to make honey but all the bottles look like bears!

(Source: youngjusticer)

catsbeaversandducks:

Meerkats make the best photographer’s assistants EVER.

Via BuzzFeed

(Source: artchet)

(Source: idalias)

(Source: dailystir)

And I sit here without identity: faceless. My head aches.
When things break, it’s not the actual breaking that prevents them from getting back together again. It’s because a little piece gets lost - the two remaining ends couldn’t fit together even if they wanted to. The whole shape has changed.
Death is always on the way, but the fact that you don’t know when it will arrive seems to take away from the finiteness of life. It’s that terrible precision that we hate so much. But because we don’t know, we get to think of life as an inexhaustible well. Yet everything happens a certain number of times, and a very small number, really. How many more times will you remember a certain afternoon of your childhood, some afternoon that’s so deeply a part of your being that you can’t even conceive of your life without it? Perhaps four or five times more. Perhaps not even. How many more times will you watch the full moon rise? Perhaps twenty. And yet it all seems limitless.