I'm Lindsay, 22, New York native.

I have a big smile, a big heart, and an even bigger mind. I drink too much coffee and eat too much sushi. I laugh loudly and wear lots of jewelry. I am young, running wild and free.

This blog offers a peek into my jumbled mind and you all are welcome to come along for the ride.

INSTAGRAM: lindsaybeann

We teeter here

on the edge again.

Deciding if we should continue down this path

or turn back while there’s still a chance

to maintain the normalcy

of our past.

I feel strong enough to get over you.

To move on.

To find someone who is actually worth my time

and isn’t just trying to avoid eating alone

or fill the empty space in the bed next to them.

I want something with substance.

Don’t I deserve that?

But then you come back,

with eyes that smile

and lips that kiss the darkest, bruised places of my heart.

You quiet my mind 

and make me feel that cliche sense of wholeness

that everyone talks about.

Here we are,

still with feet dangling off the cliff.

Let’s jump in with both feet.

That’s all I really ask for.

No hesitation.

I know what I want,

why don’t you?

Don’t you love me too?

setbabiesonfire:

 

setbabiesonfire:

 

(Source: auboisdemoncoeur)

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the sound I heard when I was 9 and my father slammed the front door so hard behind him I swear to god it shook the whole house. For the next 3 years I watched my mother break her teeth on vodka bottles. I think she stopped breathing when he left. I think part of her died. I think he took her heart with him when he walked out. Her chest is empty, just a shattered mess or cracked ribs and depression pills.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s all the blood in the sink. It’s the night that I spent 12 hours in the emergency room waiting to see if my sister was going to be okay, after the boy she loved, told her he didn’t love her anymore. It’s the crying, and the fluorescent lights, and white sneakers and pale faces and shaky breaths and blood. So much blood.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the time that I had to stay up for two days straight with my best friend while she cried and shrieked and threw up on my bedroom floor because her boyfriend fucked his ex. I swear to god she still has tear streaks stained onto her cheeks. I think when you love someone, it never really goes away.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the six weeks we had a substitute in English because our teacher was getting divorced and couldn’t handle getting out of bed. When she came back she was smiling. But her hands shook so hard when she held her coffee, you could see that something was broken inside. And sometimes when things break, you can’t fix them. Nothing ever goes back to how it was. I got an A in English that year. I think her head was always spinning too hard to read any essays.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s that I do.

— It’s not that I don’t love you. (via exoticwild)

(Source: extrasad, via exoticwild)


(Source: sitxlys, via peace-be-dreams)

(Source: born-t0-lose, via carapherxelia)

(Source: born-t0-lose, via carapherxelia)


Bryan Cranston and Aaron Paul at the 66th Annual Primetime Emmy Awards

Bryan Cranston and Aaron Paul at the 66th Annual Primetime Emmy Awards

(Source: controlyourface, via allaaronpaul)

tumhblr:

obsol:





♦ nature ♦







nature

tumhblr:

obsol:

nature

nature

(via themoonandthetruth)

M.S. (via comboverrated)

(via rien-que-pour-moi)


(via whatcocaine)

themed by coryjohnny for tumblr