surreal word


“Surreal” is Merriam-Webster’s word of the year

  • Merriam-Webster has chosen “surreal” as its 2016 word of the year and this feels extremely, unfortunately right.
  • The choice fits neatly alongside Oxford Dictionaries’ selection of “post-truth” and’s"xenophobia.“ 
  • Taken all together, they really paint a vivid picture of the past 12 months, don’t they? Read more
keep me waiting

pairing: jimin x reader
genre: fluff

word count: 1.6k
        → ill steal you back in 8 years, don’t worry. you like me, right?

(quick drabble because i’ve been feeling jimin these days)

”I just want to be able to give you more.” he sighed, sad smiles exchanged in the empty subway.

“You give me everything I want, Jimin.”

“No, no…” he shushed you. “I’m not trying to break up with you. I’ll come back. I’ll finish my business with Bangtan, I’ll ride the high out and then I’ll come back to you. Pinky promise.”

He stretched his pinky out towards you, your brows furrowing with dissatisfaction. It felt surreal hearing those words, considering you weren’t even his girlfriend. You remembered the 8 years that were left of his contract, a small gasp escaping your lips.

“You want me to wait for 8 years?”

His mouth pursed and he tried to hold back a chuckle, perhaps a little surprised at the realization himself. Eight years was a long time and no amount of hopefulness could deny it.

“No, don’t wait…” he smirked. “You can go on, date other people. I’ll come around and steal you back, that’s no issue.”

A shy pout erupted at your bottom lip; a juvenile, whiny gaze sent his way. You didn’t want to date other people, you didn’t want to wait eight years. You just wanted him and his stupid kisses. He pushed into your shoulders with a teasing glance, flicking his tongue at the roof of his mouth.

“You like me, right?”

You forced your hands into your sweater, blooming bouquets of various shades of red blossoming like a blanket on your cheeks. How could he ask you this, you liked him so much you could burst what the fuck Jimin hngnghngh

“Yeah.” you muttered, shy glances briefly stolen.

“You’re cute.”

If this was any other guy, perhaps it would’ve ended there. Perhaps he would’ve let you go, let you breathe a little. If he wasn’t entirely merciless, perhaps he would’ve let you date other people, perhaps he would’ve let you go home.

However, this was Park Jimin, your best friend and secret love of your life. He kept asking you out after that, kissing your forehead, carrying you around in his apartment.

Keep reading

step three is our own kind; we find company in the ancient archways, hidden gardens, and enchanting downpours that match our own composition of stardust in a way no human ever could.

in this place, together at last, we’re home.

—  👁‍🗨Swack // 3.22.2017 pt. III of III
the weedbox

coated in dust
from a thousand joints
sits on the glass table near my bed
which my grandfather made
somehow, magician that he was.
another day of slobbing about,
becoming an expert at youtube,
watching everything on netflix


bojack’s still good though.
this poem isn’t a patch
of well-tilled earth
intended for growing notes
with which to sustain a family,
it is wilderness, an empty lot
natural and random in its development,
pass by, your kind are never welcome here
where trees huddle together gossiping
and soaring eagles smash
their own eggs on hard rocks
to spite creation,
you will not survive this poem.

take comfort though,

not all planes of existence 
are open to everyone -
the mad eagle and i
would surely die
the moment we step outside
into your realm of the real.


I could hear the dark furiously murmur,
so eerily,
through the night
as it assimilated a soul whom so easily mended
calm stillness
with fire
and desire
with fright.

Only then,
when the ghastly sky cried
and the moon dimmed red –
as the macabre complied
and the caliginous spread;
I concretely acknowledged that whoever loves unknowingly
lies comatose
and remains partially dead.
The heart’s cursed sentence for being misled.
Yet the world keeps gravitating,
and as long as there is healing after all dread—
the inner union always finds its way to get ahead.



Laila Naim, five years old, becomes first Pakistani to model for Burberry. 

Do you guys even how huge this means to Pakistani girls growing up around the world. We grow up feeling guilty about body hair and features, shame becomes a part of how we view ourselves. And to have such a HUGE brand represent us feels surreal. I cant even type right now. 

the word “surreal” is thrown around with a bit of adandon these days, but like, that’s still definitely how i would describe the fact that charmin toilet paper has built its advertising entirely around the phrase “does a bear shit in the woods?”

Lilitu’s lament

this untranslatable hot animal
a prey, the observer
is the prey
for today

the prey, the observer
they both animate forces
coming all over extinguished presences
because of you

Yes, dear reader, toi
hypocrite lecteur, 
conscientiously charming
your fake newspapers where everything is bodies
in frivolous variations and everything
is bodied
in another domestic desert

I am Lilitu the protosituationist
and my italian
was far more exact
than Eve’s


Sometimes, life feels like a dream.
Everything seems distant, just a little bit out of reach. Everything is slightly floating, vibrating and looks surreal. Everything is moving and still staying at the same place as before.
Life feels like a dream, a gloomy, messy and chaotic dream.

Let’s just hope it’s not a nightmare…