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Lexi's the name

@lwirth000-blog

sad. grunge. hippie. depressed. indie. classic rock junkie.
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people ask me why i write all the time but I can never tell anyone the answer it’s four o clock in the morning and i am doing everything i can to make my best friend stop hating herself, i am just trying to show her the love that i did not even see until i was fifteen i write for those who can’t even find love for themselves im with a group of friends, sitting and laughing on the front porch steps when one of the guys gets a call from his girl and then proceeds to press ignore and move closer towards me i write for those who deserved more than what they got when it’s been two years and you still find yourself missing the one who did you wrong, when you find yourself wondering what if i hadn’t have taken that job, what if i wasn’t me i write for the what if’s of life i write for the times when you can’t differ from wrong and right, for those moments when you know you should have done something, when you know you should have made that move but you still couldn’t get yourself to go through with it i write for reasons like these i write for me

4am (via 4am-reflections)

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Honestly, I am so in love with his heart, with how he is constantly giving his all to people who don’t deserve it. This boy, this wonderful, amazing boy has more kindness in his pinky than most people have in their whole body. And this boy, this boy that I love so damn much happened to decide to give the heart, that I want nothing more to than protect, to me. That boy, who could have so much more than this small girl, decided to love me. He loves me. And trust me I definitely love him back.

4am (via 4am-reflections)

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zodiac sign's aesthetic

Aries- Christmas lights Taurus- Sunsets Gemini- Chokers Cancer- Pastel Leo- Bright lipstick Virgo- Pale skin and dark hair Libra- Long hair Scorpio- Bruises Sagittarius- Jawline Capricorn- Tiny tattoos Aquarius- Glitter Pisces- Plants

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These, for me, are the two most depressing paintings in western history. They were painted by post-impressionist Henry de Toulouse-Lautrec, a man who, due to inbreeding, was born with a genetic disorder that prevented his legs from growing after they were broken. After being so thoroughly mocked for is appearance, he became an alcoholic, which is what eventually caused his institutionalization and death. His only known romantic relations were with prostitutes. And then he paints something like this which is so beautiful and tender and sentimental. It seems like the couple in bed really loves each other—cares about each other. Wakes up happy to look at each other. And I see that love and passion and I wonder how lonely he must have been. I wonder how he could paint something like this without it breaking his heart.  Maybe they say artists should create what they know, not because its unbelievable when they extend themselves beyond their experiences, but because when they pull it off with such elegance, it’s so damn unbearable to look at. I hate thinking of Lautrec, wondering about the lovers he created and knowing it was beyond his experience. Creating something that he knows is beautiful and knows he’ll never really understand.