Letters to November

For last year's words belong to last year's language. And next year's words await another voice.

(Source: isobelstevenz, via greysgreys)

The rumba is the vertical expression of a horizontal wish. You have to hold her, like the skin on her thigh is your reason for living. Let her go, like your heart’s being ripped from your chest. Throw her back, like you’re going to have your way with her right here on the dance floor. And then finish, like she’s ruined you for life.

— Shall We Dance (via kirovgirl)


Pedro Alvarez

(Source: sweetpaintedladi)

(Source: kirovgirl)


Şuradaki Tumblr.: We Heart It

Fixed. theme by Andrew McCarthy