Some times I kind of wonder if, and others it’s plain to see,
That I happen to need you more than you need me.
LORD HAVE MERCY ON MY ROUGH AND ROWDY WAYS.
"Rather than love, than money, than fame, give me truth."
— Henry David Thoreau
Abbie. Capricorn. Twenty. Ithaca, New York.
Part-time Artist, amateur philosopher.
Woodland creature. Tangled bunches of tawny locks, sea-colored eyes, crooked hips, a handful of freckles and mess of metal adornments. Perpetually lost and hopelessly (hopefully?) wandering, tragically in love with this world.
www.pumpedout.tumblr.com
www.formspring.me/abigailmay
www.volchitsa.wordpress.com
www.twitter.com/meadowlarke
www.last.fm/user/raichuuu
Photos are property of
their respective owners.
In about six months from now this becomes long distance for at least that long.
I don’t know what to do. I can’t do distance, but I can’t do without you.
I would tell you to come home. It’s what I have written on my calendar. “Elliot comes home!” But the reality is, this place isn’t home, is it? Not when you’re not here. Plain and simple, love, what I’ve come to know is that to me you are home. And it makes sense: that’s the only way to explain this horrid, all-pervading void left in your wake. So asking you to come home is silly. Rather, I want to go home.
