I have one brain cell and it bounces around in my skull like a windows screen saver
When it hits a corner perfect, I’m allowed one (1) good idea.
“A poem…begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness. It is a reaching-out toward expression; an effort to find fulfillment. A complete poem is one where an emotion finds the thought and the thought finds the words.”— Robert Frost in his letter to Louis Untermeyer, dated 1 January 1916 (via existential-celestial)
the killers played mr. brightside at their first ever performance in a cafe open mic imagine being in a fucking cafe and hearing one of the best songs of the 21st century being played for the first time
me while i’m just living my life: yeah.. i don’t get it. just don’t understand any of this. like i just………………………………… don’t get it
i wish british accents were real and weren’t just invented for the ppcu (peppa pig cinematic universe)