free to fall


“So. If things were the old way, you guys would probably be flipping burgers or grinding away at school, right?” [x]

anonymous asked:

OOOH can you do #8 from the blurb thing with luke

“Will you be back?”

Your question confused Luke. He hesitated, knitting his eyebrows together as he stated slowly, “Of course I’ll be back, love. This will always be home to me.”

“I know that,” You picked at the corner of your fingernail, diverting your gaze from his. Heaving a sigh, you tested meeting his eyes for the first time in the conversation, “I mean will you come back to me? Will you still want me after being away for months? Will everything still be normal?”

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anonymous asked:

in your latest picture how did levi and hanji get so high up???

I just wanted to do a free-fall picture with the pretty background but now that you mention it, that is REALLY FUCKING HIGH UP (considering the height of the wall) so let’s just say that the monkey titan got em and threw them really high. 

i wasted so much time
on people i knew would never need me
why couldn’t i just let my hands fall free
an hour, a day
can’t change a year or three
or five or seven left behind in autumn leaves
caught up in cat’s cradle and things i was dreaming of
knowing i was hiding from the part of me that grieves
what part of me knew back then
the things that i know now
the opened doors now closed without a backward glance
i’d have followed if they’d only told me when
—  Just Say When               Sarah LaPidus, 2015
portent of Whitman Wilde

it rains  

where scattered white mists

applaud the silhouette

of a sharp and pointed moon

whose coagulant light

dispatches an infinite

population of ghosts

to haunt upon the mind

with tangential interests

that are reluctant incarnations

of an intolerable vocabulary

speak with incoherent signs

whose ragged images

free float before the eyes

create a straight line

upon a lime green colored wall

whose ghostly contour of shape

has no reason to be there

then it rains in horizontal free fall

from the ceiling to the floor

where these apparitions collide

in an empty sky of stars

creates a mysterious circumstance

that dictates mischievous epigraphs

where the leaves are black

it is whispered to young men

who reluctantly plant trees

whose shade they know

they will never sit in

it rains in this place

an angry and heavy rain

that sculpts the bones

and blinds the eyes

and the young men lie down

like rusted knives

in an antique drawer

without recognizing

this dredful portent of war