What She Means:
Barney and Robin were the most awesome god damn couple ever and they should not have broken apart just because of a simple travel issue. I find it hurtful that the writers would literally spend an entire season focused on these two's wedding and then within the first 10 minutes of the episode directly following the ceremony have them break up (while also breaking hearts) just so that they can put Robin with a half-fast reunitement of Robin and Ted despite Ted already being with the most perfect human being ever. So what do they do? They kill her off, just so they can put these two characters who have had no success in romantic relationships with each other. So not only do they destroy one adorable and beloved couple but two. Yes, I am still bitter over this.
Please take a moment to appreciate the fact that you are so alive right now. You are breathing. Your heart is beating. Blood is coursing through your veins. You are so undeniably beautiful in this moment, which can never be replicated. So undeniably you.
melodrama through the eyes of a (fellow) synaesthete
hello everyone! just like lorde herself, i have a strong case of synaesthesia (I get colour visions, but also tastes and scents as well), so this is my attempt to review the masterpiece that is melodrama through my synaesthetical experiences
green light: car air freshener, heated highway and the visions you get when you drive in heat (a la mirages), blackberry-scented cheap shower gel, a pistachio green silk scarf, old school adidas kicks, lemon juice drops on fresh summer salad, beige satin, old black cars (a la classic cadillacs and jaguars), maple syrup, the heat of cairo at around 11 am
sober: ripehoneydew, the smell of guitar wood varnish, red satin ribbons, smudged glass coffee tables, spilled lemonade on said tables, peach vodka, the feel of white plaster in old museums where security guards are very strict, cough syrup (both the colour and the flavour), artificial smell of mint, mint gum, velvet red carpeting in old and badly aired town halls, the humidity of rainforest
homemade dynamite: 4 am sunrise straight after a storm with torn dark grey, nearly black clouds being ripped, smell of gasoline, deep puddles in cracked pavement, dimmed street lights about to go out, magenta, white musk perfume from the body shop, deep indigo of the nearly sunrise of mid may, that walk home from a rowdy night out when everyone is more or less sobered up, but not sober enough to feel shy yet, still drunk enough to be honest with affection and cursing and slightly slurred speech
the louvre: bamboo blinds, bamboo shoots, bonsai trees, flowing honey, varnished birchwood, sunlit old halls in ugly grey
soviet buildings, silver hellium-filled balloons, white shiny doors between a party-filled room and a closet where hook-ups and one-night stands take place, old oil paint, the sunny, lemon yellow butterflies, muddly skies of july, edelflower syrup in a glass of white wine, edelflower flower crowns, an expensive pool in a mansion-like house in hollywood hills, the eerie comfort and anxiety of the opening credits of twin peaks
liability: massive bouquets of lily of the valley, white lace curtains knitted by a grandmother, greyness of a sunday in a village on a last warm october day, a single light in an office on a late night in a massive skyscraper, dried flowers, drops of nosebleed on a crystal clean white sink, grey that turns into pastel lilac, the feeling of ripped paper
hard feelings/loveless: faint sunrise shining through the windows of a manhattan apartment in a skyscraper, all shades of orange spilling onto a hi-tec kitchen, cointreau liqueur, sunny warm nights on ocean beach, lukewarm bathtubs when the bath foam has fizzled, bonfires and burned marshmallows, just the beginning of feeling buzzed (like a glass of wine in), tender shades of yellow, rustiness of old heavy doors into a basement, scaffolding sounds, first sunniest days of spring after a heavy winter, sunset in the ocean, heavy fluffy sweaters / neon diner signs, anime eyes, porcelain dolls, peach-flavoured bubblegum, glass bowls
sober ii (melodrama): colour of crimson, heavy red velvet couches, smudged matte red lipstick, glass shards, ripped pearl necklaces and scattered pearls on sticky floor, red limelight, stilettos, tight black bodysuits, smoky-eyed tall models in revealing tight and latex dresses, marble furniture with golden decor, fistfights during a party, ripped suits and thrown ties and unbuttoned white shirts on boys with wealthy fathers
writer in the dark: light parakeet green, whitewashed starched tablecloths that crunch, old wooden tables, rusty cages for canaries, Advocat liqueur, big pearl necklaces on black dresses, big sunglasses (a la Audrey’s in Breakfast at Tiffany’s), sunny Sunday mornings on a patio with a cup of fancy tea, sunday clothes, white churches in greece, silver tears and crying in the backseat after a breakup, wilted flowers in a vase with dirty water
supercut: light green and orange, Love Is bubblegum, peaches, apricots, mint, Mojitos, fairy lights above people at a rooftop party, roadtrip one takes after a breakup with all thier belongings, flavoured water that doesn’t quench thirst, sparkling water with lemon and ice cubes, worn down picnic blankets, fancy dresses girls wear to the entrance into a nightclub, folding chairs, chilled champagne
liability (reprise): cold winter wind of february, the feeling on the tip of the tongue from scolding hot tea, big white rooms in museums, light green, light smoke of e-cigarette that smells like peppermint, the smell of sunscreen, the stillness of a swimming pool at noon in heat
perfect places: red wine, swinging chandeliers, red plastic cups, glass grand pianos, the last summer party in august, that warm feeling at the end of the party where everyone’s buzzed and affectionate and there’s a lot of kissing and hugging and swinging, big fake golden earrings, summer fruits, fancy hotels and luxurious lifts/elevators, skinny dipping, black velvet dresses that touch the floor, uncontrollable laughing in comfy sweaters
Writers are great, no matter what they do. They update every week or once in a blue moon? Great! They write long fics, short fics, drabbles, headcannons, a book, short stories, poems? Wonderful! They’ve been writing for years or just started? Perfect! Give writers the respect and love they deserve.
1. you think she is beautiful even when she has acne all over her face and hair tied in a messy bun. you think she looks hot when she tries to be mad at you for being too hard on your self. you think she looks better than most of the human population and you think she looks best when she’s in your arms professing her love for you between sips of that bitter vodka you bought her.
2. you can’t stop thinking about her brown eyes, short black straight hair and freckled pointed nose. you can’t stop thinking of how her lips would feel against yours right this instance. you can’t stop thinking about how perfect her breasts feel in your hands. you can’t stop thinking about the late night conversation you had with her. you just can’t stop thinking about her even when you’re sipping coffee at starbucks, even when you’re watching a horror movie, even when you’re in class studying discrete math.
3. you know when she is angry, or when she is pissed at you for talking about other girls. you know what she likes to eat when she is on her period. you know when she is upset about that paper that she turned in late to her professor. you know she likes to be the centre of your attention always. you know she smiles when you hold her hand firmly in public. you know she bites her nails when she’s stressed out. you know her inside out.
4. you smile like a crazy man when you see her. you smile when someone says her name. you smile when you see a text message from her. you smile when you’re around her. you smile when people say you look good together. you smile when someone tells you she looks beautiful, like its a compliment for you and not her. you smile when she tells you she loves you. you smile when she tells you she loves to be your girl. you smile all day like an idiot and you smile until someone tells you to stop smiling because she’s not even around.
5. you talk about her to everyone, to your mom, to your bestfriend, to your room mate. you tell them everything about her. you tell them about how you read this tumblr post and it made you think of her. you tell them she’s perfect, not because of how she looks, or how smart she is, or how well she writes but because she’s yours. and only yours. you tell them how you don’t date a nine, but always a fucking ten, so yeah you tell everyone how and why she is a perfect ten.