☯ TEEN IDLE ☯

 photo ae7744ec-570b-4fe8-8d2d-1b021573b1d6_zpsf892bb8e.jpg ARIA DANIELLA HERNANDEZ CLEMENTE. 18.
Promise me that when I die, you'll scatter my ashes on Mars.

When I went through a really intense breakup — you know, I was engaged — and when I was with him or when I was on Disney, the thing that gave me the most anxiety was not knowing what to do with myself when Disney wasn’t there to carry me anymore or if I didn’t have him. And now I’m free of both of those things, and I’m fine. Like, I lay in bed at night by myself and I’m totally okay, and that’s so much stronger than the person three years ago, who would have thought they would have died if they didn’t have a boyfriend.

—Miley Cyrus about Liam Hemsworth [x] (via onedirectioncutefacts)

(Source: nahshaw, via onedirectioncutefacts)

heyfunniest:

destroyingyourself:

suchagoldensnitch:

fishingboatproceeds:

Swinging with Hazel and Gus.

this is the cutest thing I have ever seen. 

How cool would that be though, to write characters in your head but then actually be able to play with then. Like real people who embody those people you fell in love with in your head. I would love that so much.

omg i love this photo so much

heyfunniest:

destroyingyourself:

suchagoldensnitch:

fishingboatproceeds:

Swinging with Hazel and Gus.

this is the cutest thing I have ever seen. 

How cool would that be though, to write characters in your head but then actually be able to play with then. Like real people who embody those people you fell in love with in your head. I would love that so much.

omg i love this photo so much

(via camillesiena)

drewwilsonphoto:

never trust someone who picks at their scabs. someone who won’t let it heal. because when the real pain strikes, they won’t let that heal either. like peroxide on a fresh cut they’ll wash it away and try to pretend its not so bad. hide it underneath a bandaid. but that itch will start to come back. and they’ll always go back to pick. then both your hearts become infected and i think that’s how scars are really made. i’m beginning to think i’ve become immune to all the remedies. to all the fixes. no neosporin or peroxide can save me. no whiskey or blonde haired blurs will fix me. but you’re always going to be the hospital that keeps its lights on late. that phone that always talks back. that letter that never gets lost in the mail. and i will always be that bird lost at sea. that flower trapped between two blocks of concrete. i will always have those bandaids stuck on me. i’m no longer chained to mistakes. but the shackles will always remain. like a quiet reminder. 

(Source: drewwilsonphoto, via thewastedgeneration)