When a chord resolves, it’s the equivalent to a long exhale at the end of a long day.
Me in theory the other day (via lifeofthatoddtrumpetgirl)

(via aboutmidi)


aboutmidi:

hungrylikethewolfie:

lady-chyna:

logicislife:

jessycanhasblog:

irishsub:

Two girls, one piano. Warning: Awesome.

Oh wow these girls are brilliant.

These girls: 1
Tom Hanks: 0

Toccata and Fugue in D Minor | Johann Sebastian Bach.

I wonder how long it took to practice this shit

DRIFT COMPATIBLE, BABY

Mind Blowing!



gloomist:

nedhepburn:

This one time I painted a living room with a girl.
This was a handful of years back. It was about eight months before the huge, flame-out of a breakup. That day, though? That day we painted the living room? It was pretty uneventful. We painted my parents living room for $50 between us and a pizza. That was it. I think we watched Anchorman or something after that.
But it still holds as on of the most indelible memories I have. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not still in love, it happened, it was good, it ended, and we’ve both moved on. But I’ll never forget that day. Because it’s never, in the long run, about the grand gestures. You can fly across the world and show up on her doorstep with a rose in your teeth and a ring in a little velvet box but I can guarantee you that - more often than not - she’s going to remember the time you built the birdhouse in the back yard, or what have you, a whole lot more.
Life wasn’t meant to be taken in large movements. The next day will inevitably arrive, you’ll sleep, and the moment will have passed. But when you have a hundred thousand small moments, you can step back and appreciate the picture a lot more than metaphorically blowing your load on some grand moment that, in all honesty, look, you’re not Bruce Fucking Springsteen, you’re not going to be able to blow everyone’s mind every single night. You’re not Romeo and/or Juliet. There’s no reason to drink the poison together in some flame-out gesture. So that leaves us with the small stuff. It’s all about the detail.
That’s what love is. Attention to detail.
And the moment will end. And then things will get boring. And it might get a little quiet. And it might all end horribly. And you might hate eachother at the end. And you might walk away from eachother one day and never speak again. But that’s just how it goes.
But she’ll remember the time you held the door open for her on your first date.She’ll remember the time you laughed at her impression of the landlady.She’ll remember the time you stayed up all night that first time. She’ll remember the small things a lot longer than the big ones.
But everything ends. And I’ll tell you why you have to make the small things, the small moments count so much more:
One day, probably a while longer from now, when old age takes ahold of someone, she might just only remember your smile. Everything you ever did together, every second, every moment, every beat, every morning spent in bed, every evening spent together on the sofa, all of that - gone. Everything you ever did will be reduced to the head of a pin. She won’t remember your name. She’ll just remember your smile, and she’ll smile. She won’t know why. It’s a base, gut reaction. But she’ll smile, uncontrollably, and it will come from somewhere so deep as to know that you touched her on a primal, honest, and true level that no scientist, scholar, or savant could ever begin to explain. There is no more. There is nothing else. There is just this: She’ll remember your smile, and she’ll smile.
And you know what? That’s all that really matters in the end.

this is truly sensational

gloomist:

nedhepburn:

This one time I painted a living room with a girl.

This was a handful of years back. It was about eight months before the huge, flame-out of a breakup. That day, though? That day we painted the living room? It was pretty uneventful. We painted my parents living room for $50 between us and a pizza. That was it. I think we watched Anchorman or something after that.

But it still holds as on of the most indelible memories I have. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not still in love, it happened, it was good, it ended, and we’ve both moved on. But I’ll never forget that day. Because it’s never, in the long run, about the grand gestures. You can fly across the world and show up on her doorstep with a rose in your teeth and a ring in a little velvet box but I can guarantee you that - more often than not - she’s going to remember the time you built the birdhouse in the back yard, or what have you, a whole lot more.

Life wasn’t meant to be taken in large movements. The next day will inevitably arrive, you’ll sleep, and the moment will have passed. But when you have a hundred thousand small moments, you can step back and appreciate the picture a lot more than metaphorically blowing your load on some grand moment that, in all honesty, look, you’re not Bruce Fucking Springsteen, you’re not going to be able to blow everyone’s mind every single night. You’re not Romeo and/or Juliet. There’s no reason to drink the poison together in some flame-out gesture. So that leaves us with the small stuff. It’s all about the detail.

That’s what love is. Attention to detail.

And the moment will end. And then things will get boring. And it might get a little quiet. And it might all end horribly. And you might hate eachother at the end. And you might walk away from eachother one day and never speak again. But that’s just how it goes.

But she’ll remember the time you held the door open for her on your first date.
She’ll remember the time you laughed at her impression of the landlady.
She’ll remember the time you stayed up all night that first time.
She’ll remember the small things a lot longer than the big ones.

But everything ends. And I’ll tell you why you have to make the small things, the small moments count so much more:

One day, probably a while longer from now, when old age takes ahold of someone, she might just only remember your smile. Everything you ever did together, every second, every moment, every beat, every morning spent in bed, every evening spent together on the sofa, all of that - gone. Everything you ever did will be reduced to the head of a pin. She won’t remember your name. She’ll just remember your smile, and she’ll smile. She won’t know why. It’s a base, gut reaction. But she’ll smile, uncontrollably, and it will come from somewhere so deep as to know that you touched her on a primal, honest, and true level that no scientist, scholar, or savant could ever begin to explain. There is no more. There is nothing else. There is just this: She’ll remember your smile, and she’ll smile.

And you know what? That’s all that really matters in the end.

this is truly sensational

(via cuddleingis)



(via cuddleingis)



He saw her before he saw anything else in the room.
F. Scott Fitzgerald  (via soulmadecheerful)

(via lovequotesrus)


This urn will turn you into a tree after you die

universeobserver:

rainbow-road-to-happiness:

image

You can choose what kind of tree you want to become

image

Idk I just find this beautiful 

just imagine cemeteries looking like this

image

a forest of living, changing, beautiful trees. I think a tombstone represents finality in death while a tree represents the continuation of life. It’s like you are living on symbolically through something greater than yourself. Each tree in a forest is a soul.

I’m going to be an oak tree

(via cuddleingis)


l0ver-s:

dysphorism:

crescendowls:

youthpalms:

missarolp:

An American soldier kisses his girlfriend goodbye at Penn Station, New York, 1944.

this is heartbreaking

Photos like this make me wonder: Did he live? Did he ever return home? Did they ever get married, start a family? Or did he die, and she was left to go on without him? As tragic as it seems, that happened so many times during WWII, and looking at these two, it makes you wonder if they were they any different. I really hope so; I hope they got their happy ending. 

you and I think alike, tumblr user crescendowls

seeing this photo again and seeing where it was shot, I think now how many times I’ve walked where they kissed goodbye. How many times have I ran to catch a train, where people saw their husbands and wives for the last time.

l0ver-s:

dysphorism:

crescendowls:

youthpalms:

missarolp:

An American soldier kisses his girlfriend goodbye at Penn Station, New York, 1944.

this is heartbreaking

Photos like this make me wonder: Did he live? Did he ever return home? Did they ever get married, start a family? Or did he die, and she was left to go on without him? As tragic as it seems, that happened so many times during WWII, and looking at these two, it makes you wonder if they were they any different. I really hope so; I hope they got their happy ending. 

you and I think alike, tumblr user crescendowls

seeing this photo again and seeing where it was shot, I think now how many times I’ve walked where they kissed goodbye. How many times have I ran to catch a train, where people saw their husbands and wives for the last time.

(via cuddleingis)


(via e4rthy)


You are so used to your features, you don’t know how beautiful you look to a stranger.
(via nudetee)

(via lovequotesrus)



lovequotesrus:

Everything you love is here

lovequotesrus:

Everything you love is here


hplyrikz:

I can relate to this

hplyrikz:

I can relate to this