nevver:

die Bibliothek Cake
Attempting to cure this bout of nausea w/ warm pita & Julia Nunes music
aren’t i a cutie

I just would like to say that I recognize in advance that the amount of selfies posted here may increase somewhat drastically. Miami and its “Miami girls” have been known to take a toll on my self esteem but this semester I am going to be trying very hard to prevent that from happening. And if that means taking and posting more possibly annoying selfies to help me enjoy the way I look, so be it! Goodnight, friends.

jdchiaramonte:

Andy Warhol by William Kennedy for photography annual 1970 international edition

Yeah, it’s very good to be back. 

My apartment is big and echoy and I feel a little far from campus. No more dining halls, no more going to cookouts for free food “bc why not?”. All of the big events are really for the freshmen. So I go to WalMart for the 4th time this weekend and do my laundry like a good grownup. It’s funny— how excited and apathy-stricken second year students can be. It’s all at once. I’m glad I got here on Thursday bc just watching the crowds scramble up the stairs of Gavin’s dorm was enough to make me almost sick. I love it desperately here. Last year was all adventure. Now we’re just resettling in. Our living room walls are so bare but we are tired and poor and lack the patience to decorate. We bought lights but they require a screwdriver to open the battery pack so I put the box in the closet. I wish this place was more spruced up but right now I could fall asleep in three seconds flat if I closed my eyes, and I have other things to think about. My night was fantastic. Even before we got to the party, even before we walked to the boys’. Carly and Gavin and I took pictures in the mirror and ate hummus and listened to our voices bounce. I wore my flowery dress and my needle in my arm. Our walk to Flower was long. Talking to the boys was so full of surface but still pleasant. Josh smells different and cut most of his hair off. First we were detached. But as soon as he sat next to me on Andrew’s bed I was relayed a series of increasingly forward and serious questions and that made me feel right at home. Andrew will never change as long as he lives. He is a parody of himself and I adore it. I tell him I like his Twitter. Grant shows up with a backpack. He’s wearing the same shirt as Andrew and it’s the cutest. It was an accident, of course. Grant seems taller, bigger, but maybe it’s just the room. Ross’s hair is longer. I tell him that he’s a nice guy but I don’t know if I mean it. I think I meant to say something else. He could be good. He’s sometimes nice. There’s potential but not enough for me to ponder. Janice (Zach) leaves fairly quickly to help Marla unpack. But he is the way he always is— high as a kite, full of anecdotes he’s forgotten to string together. His hair is still wet from the shower he couldn’t turn off and I wonder if his whole world looks like mist. And I wonder if he likes the background noise. And I wonder if he meant to leave the faucet running. Yellow grew a beard and got more muscley, which I didn’t think was possible but apparently it was. His eyes are so genuine. It used to be easy to believe him. Now I think it’s easy not to. He is always on the run and I’m not really sure where he ended up. We go to the party and it is wonderful, wonderful. I feel held by reunions, even when I don’t take part. There are plenty of arms. I talk to strangers. I talk to friends. I say “DO YOU REMEMBER ME?” over and over, especially when I know the answer. The entire experience is like a deep breath of fresh air. Which is ironic, because the air is crazy thick. Humidity and beer and dim light and glances— everything is hanging, hanging there and I could not be more happy to take a swim in it. We leave, and the walk is not long. I buy pizza on the street and chat with the vendor. He says he gets paid 5 dollars and hour. I tip him 2 dollars for a 3 dollar order. He doesn’t say thank you— but maybe he did, actually. Maybe I left too quick. Gavin sees all kinds of people he knows. When we get home I am exhausted. I don’t take off my makeup and in the morning I wish I had. Gavin smells like a dream. I sleep weird and well. 

harlequinpants:

I apparently have a Problem

"God writes the gospel not in the Bible alone, but on trees and flowers and clouds and stars"

Martin Luther

(via heavenisreality)