sayitamelia:

In the morning when I wake
And the sun is coming through,
Oh, you fill my lungs with sweetness,
And you fill my head with you.

Shall I write it in a letter?
Shall I try to get it down?
Oh, you fill my head with pieces
Of a song I can’t get out.

Can I be close to you?
Ooh-oo-oo-ooh, ooh.
Can I be close to you?
Ooh, ooh.

Can I take it to a morning
Where the fields are painted gold
And the trees are filled with memories
Of the feelings never told?

When the evening pulls the sun down,
And the day is almost through,
Oh, the whole world it is sleeping,
But my world is you.

Can I be close to you?
(Ah) ooh (aah), ooh (aah).
Can I be close to you?
(Ah) ooh (aah), ooh (aah).

*whistling*

Can I be close to you?
(Ah) ooh (aah), ooh (aah).
Can I be close to you?
(Ah) ooh (aah), ooh (aah).

Can I be close to you?
Ooh, ooh. ♥

When the sun doesn’t shine…

I wish I had a fairy godmother to give me a full makeover - top to bottom. 
I need an image change and I’m not sure how to go about making it. :S  

To think, to cry, and to grow. 

aianarie:

I will catch your tears.

Because I’m going to cut my hair. :)

genannetics:

Did you know the Easter Island heads have bodies?

Yup it’s true.  And some are as tall as 10 meters (33ft)! The Moai have overly large heads (3/5 the size of their bodies), and because of photographs taken in the 50’s of the slopes of Rano Raraku (where the statues are buried to their shoulders) many (including me) are lead to believe that they are only heads!

Check out the Easter Island Statue Project (http://www.eisp.org/) for more info on the excavation, Easter Island history, and more pictures!

Let my skin drink of the sky once more.

heartisbreaking:

Nikko by Cazman08 on Flickr.

yeux-bruns:

Un cafesito…

Bene. 

A book full of memories and a heart full of regrets.

Today at work, I watched a woman cry as she decided to donate her uncle’s scrapbook of WWII to the museum so that it can be appreciated by a wider audience. 

She said “My heart is telling me to leave it but my mind…” and then her face became red and scrunched up and she couldn’t continue speaking. 

It was such a private moment of farewell and I would’ve liked to give her some space and time with the book but she just left it and didn’t pick it up again after making her decision. 

A piece of history like that - I think it’s magical. 
You find a musty old trunk in the attic and inside, among the moth balls, there is a book labelled “Moments” because that’s what they are - pieced together by bits of glue, newspaper clippings, photos and letters. 

Someday, when I find someone truly special, I’ll take the time to make something that precious just for their eyes.