It's not my fault. I'm just uninterested. Always. That is, uninterested in anything but this: [you guys are seriously the fucking bomb& what is alyssa's face doing?]
With rhythms like the tide, there's little to control her. Nothing but the subtle pull of the moon and the faith that tomorrow she'll crawl upon some unknown shore of some unknown destination. If she wants a getaway she'll find it. Arriving, as if carried on the crest of waves
( Read more... )