Hello I'm Lanaia and I'm a Canadian Princess who saves all the princes in distress(◡‿◡✿) I like pretty dresses, hair accessories, cute boys, cute girls,mermaids, nosebleeds, and being choked

[this heart's a mess]




Sometimes I feel okay,
but then I remember 
how much I loved tracing over your collarbones
with my fingertips,
and how your hands felt on the small
of my back,
and how the freckles on your cheeks 
reminded me of the stars in the night sky,
and suddenly I realise
I’m not okay. 
I miss you.

I am hopelessly in love with a memory.
An echo from another time, another place.

(Source: bonerbae)

(Source: thatquirkygirljenny)

REBLOG 3 weeks ago 614
tags: #words



favorite one yet! thanks for the wonderful words (^ν^)

Thanks lovely xo Lang 


Love & Misadventure is available online via Amazon, BN.com + The Book Depository and Barnes & Noble, Kinokuniya, Books Actually, Fully Booked and other good book stores worldwide. 


Spring by Michael Faudet

Do not try to be pretty. You weren’t meant to be pretty; you were meant to burn down the earth and graffiti the sky. Don’t let anyone ever simplify you to just “pretty.”
Things I Wish My Mother Had Taught Me | d.a.s    (via wanduring)


I love this bc it doesn’t specify what isnt permanent. Like it could be that empty feeling nestled in your chest, that guilt over something you did last night, or that sadness that consumes you. It might even be the feelings you share with a certain person, or just life in general.

I love unmade beds. I love when people are drunk and crying and cannot be anything but honest in that moment. I love the look in people’s eyes when they realize they’re in love. I love the way people look when they first wake up and they’ve forgotten their surroundings. I love the gasp people take when their favorite character dies. I love when people close their eyes and drift to somewhere in the clouds. I fall in love with people and their honest moments all the time. I fall in love with their breakdowns and their smeared makeup and their daydreams. Honesty is just too beautiful to ever put into words.
—(via prettypeachpeonies)

(Source: freckledhips)

Delete her number.

Stop ringing her. Stop messaging her. Stop making excuses to see her, to drop by her place.

Erase her name from memory. Remove yourself from her life, more completely than you would like but as completely as she deserves. Move on, so that you can allow her to also move on. When you close your eyes, you don’t get to see her face. Not anymore. You don’t get to think about her lips, the warm glow of her skin when she rests next to you, or how she squeezes your hand in her sleep. You are not allowed to remember the smell of her perfume, that she only drinks mint tea (with two dollops of honey), or that she loves you.

She loves you.

She has been in love with you for too long.

So, forget how she says your name. Forget how she calls your name. Forget how she screams your name. Forget that time you got sick and she stayed up with you all night, letting you lay your head in her lap and holding a cold compress to your forehead. Forget how her hair feels in your fingers. Forget how she looks in your sweatshirts.

Forget her.

Know only that she existed at one point in your life, but relinquish all hope that she could exist at another point — sometime in the future that you are unwilling to specify because you don’t know what you want. Yet. It is not fair for you to swoop in and out of her life as you choose. It is not fair for you to say that you are satisfied with “things as they are” and you will have time to “figure it out” later. Let her stop investing emotionally in you. Let her pour that love and care into the people who deserve her.

Don’t tell her that you think about her all the time. Don’t tell her that it bothers you to hear about her with other people, but that you’re willing to understand as long as she likes you more than them. Don’t tell her that this isn’t the right moment but that there will be a right moment. There is not going to be a right moment. She shouldn’t have to wait for the right moment.

Don’t tell her that you can’t handle ultimatums, that you don’t like the idea of finally adding finality to your relationship — whatever still remains of it.

What you are telling her is that you want to keep her on as an option, that you are taking her for granted, that you want to know she will be there, that you can depend on her at the end of the day. When you find that no one else has stuck around or that those who have are less interesting, less thoughtful, or less doggedly loyal to you.

Doggedly loyal to you.

That is what she has been to you, for you almost as long as you have known her: a constant emotional crutch, the guarantee of stability, a safety net while you reachvout to grasp objects that sparkle and shine far greater than she does. All that glitters is not gold, haven’t you heard?

She is fire. You are ice, and you are afraid that her slow burn will smolder your cool, hard demeanor. That’s what has driven your decisions, your actions all along: fear. You are a coward. You are a hypocrite. You are terrified to let her go, but you are afraid she is too good for you, that she could drive you wild, that you would choke on her flames. That she is too much for you to handle right now.

Right now.

But if you choose not to love her now, you can’t choose to love her later.

A text post has never made me tear up before. Shit (via positiveclarity)


(via decepti0us)

the last line .. the last line.. need to tattoo that on my whole house, face and world 

(Source: laurenhooper)

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Nobody will ever love you as much as an artist can. On your worst days, they will find poetry in the knots of your hair.
— That Could Have Been Me

(Source: justechoesoffthewall)

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(Source: confessions-of-a-cutaholic)

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The Muse by Michael Faudet

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persephone (thirteen years old)

i will hurt you (and that
is a threat, not an excuse)

my eyes are red, and
            there are six seeds of
            pomegranate between
my lips; my teeth skate across
the tips of your fingers, keratin
coarse like the beds of your nails.
i am trimmed cuticles, i am the
wood of the rails up the mechanical

i am air, and your constricted throat;
i am sharpened chain, and twisted
rope. i am the light of the moon, i
am a wolf’s nested lair. i am the feet
which hang from the noose, and the
cross to which your palms are nailed.

i will hurt you and you won’t see it.
i am miasma theory. you don’t even
have to be near me. my eyes are red,
but they don’t have to be seen. the
queen of the underworld doesn’t
ask permission to scream.

(Source: lusilly)

REBLOG 1 month ago 25
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