That’s the problem with all of this. No matter how hard I try, I can’t make it perfect. I can’t keep it in a bottle, can’t ignore reality. Chemicals are involved, the kind scientists try to synthesize and put into pill form, and they’re making tremendous advances every day. They’re winning the war against love. It’s probably inevitable now. There are only two ways to see the world: either no one and nothing is connected to anything, or we are all a random series of carbon molecules connected to each other. Tell me if there’s room for love in either of those scenarios.

My body is a metronome, keeping time for the universe.

♥"I'm a procrastinating underachiever at heart."♥

We're just like a movie based on a book-- almost, but not quite as good.

You are what you love, not who loves you.

It's semi-frustrating when your name actually becomes a synonym for douchebag.

Emo is over, you can all go home now