One of the first things they ask you in the ER is to rate your pain on a scale from 1 to 10. I’ve been asked this question hundreds of times and… I remember once, when I couldn’t catch my breath and I felt like my chest was on fire. The nurse asked me to rate the pain, though I couldn’t speak I held up nine fingers. Later, when I start to feeling better, the nurse came in and she called me a fighter. "You know how I know?" she said, "you called a 10 a 9." But that wasn’t the truth. I didn’t called it a 9 ‘cause I was brave. The reason I called it a 9 was because I was saving my 10.

And this was it. This was the great and terrible 10. 

com-pulsion:

I want a cactus in a cute little pot and I’ll name it after you because you’re a fucking prick.

Maybe it won’t work out. But maybe seeing if it does will be the best adventure ever.
(via starlate)

louisiana-hot-sauce:

"Where is my Edward Cullen?"

"Where is my Damon Salvatore?"

"Where is my Christian Grey?"

For your sake, jail I hope.

If I feel confident wearing something, I think it translates in photographs. It changes my demeanor and posture.