i burnt out hard like a spark

And we kissed and we fought I laughed and you screamed Oh I’ve learned to loathe these Goddamn visions But I just can’t wait to fall back to sleep

How often do you look back? Really reflect on what you’ve done? The insignificance of it all; pointless arguments, inside jokes, funny haircuts. But do you ever wonder how you’ll be remembered? Or if what you’ve done or what you’re doing means anything at all? What will your songs sound like when you’re dead and gone? Will tears fall when the last note is sung? And how will your story be told? Will your words leave a bitter taste in their mouths? Or will they even remember you at all?

 ”I’m very proud of my roots, I get very offended if someone asks where I’m from in England. I’m not English. At all.”

Rainbow Rowell, Eleanor & Park (via dreamfuzzin)

I wake up and I hear my phone ring, I hear your call and I let my phone ring When I got into my car and drove away, I listened to the stereo play

Natalia Kills | Outta Time