Collections of a Romantic Heart

Art may be in the eye of the beholder, but it is always the inspiration of a person in the world.

Feel free to reblog any pictures you see and like :)
These posts here are a compilation of what I and close friends have written, taken, and/or made unless otherwise noted.

This is my collection

Other blog:
Wouldn't It Be Loverly...

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L4F

May 26

I love the fact that I can go out on a “date” with one of my girlfriends and have a better time than I ever would have with a man.

May 22

“The great events of life often leave one unmoved; they pass out of consciousness, and, when one thinks of them, become unreal. Even the scarlet flowers of passion seem to grow in the same meadow as the poppies of oblivion.” Oscar Wilde (via corona-borealis)

May 21

(via renardcapricieux)

May 19

May 18

I just want someone to tell me everything will be okay, because they went into the future and saw it. I want him/her to just hold me and say I’ll be fine. That everything is going to work out. That all I need to do is sit and let the person squeeze me so tight that all of my anxiety, all of my fears, all of my tension, just pop and disappear.

But I have a feeling that won’t happen.

Sometimes, I wish I WISHED I had a relationship; but the thought of one makes the corners of my mouth turn down… How’s that for something to admit?

(via palides)

May 16

“I saw my mom at death’s doorstep”

Really? You saw her at death’s doorstep? You have NO IDEA what that threshold looks like. Your mother was not so ill that she was about to die.Doctors found out what was wrong in time. You don’t understand what it looks like to see your mother in so much pain, and to haveno one believe her.You have no concept what it is like to watch her suffer and every doctor tell her and her family she is lying. No, she WASN’T at Death’s Door. She was simply very sick.

You want to know what that doorstep looks like? It’s desolate; cold—a black door with a rusty knob with a sheet of dirty ice as the step before it. I’ve watched people stand there, watched them walk through that door. You have NO CLUE how that looks, how that feels; how it chills your soul and curdles your blood to the point where it becomes so thick you can’tmove. You can’t speak. You can’t even breathe. So don’t you DARE tell me you know what that looks like. You’ve never seen a dead body like I have. You’ve never seen them carried out on a gurney covered in a sheet out of your living room. You’ve never touched someone after their skin is cool. You haven’t sat on the floor of a hospital room all through the night awake just to spend a few more moments with someone you know is going to die. You KNOW it. You KNOW they’re standing in front of that door, hand on that handle, waiting for nothing and yet everything.

So don’t. tell. me. you. know.

Listening to broken-hearted pining and love-lost rubbish at THIS LATE at night, makes me want to kill myself. JUST LET ME GO TO SLEEP. STOP talking to me, and let me go to bed. Please. It’s the least you owe me for putting up with you.

May 12