back at home with mi little sweetie
n. the realization that each random passerby is living a life as vivid and complex as your own—populated with their own ambitions, friends, routines, worries and inherited craziness—an epic story that continues invisibly around you like an anthill sprawling deep underground, with elaborate passageways to thousands of other lives that you’ll never know existed, in which you might appear only once, as an extra sipping coffee in the background, as a blur of traffic passing on the highway, as a lighted window at dusk.
(Source: chic-cactus, via toxic-ponies)
some people would love to argue with this quote….but they just cant..
Do the birds and bees ever hang out or do they just fuck every time?
the problem with reading a good book is that you want to finish the book but you don’t want to finish the book