Bailey Showstead. Tatted. 18. Lynnwood. Taken <3.
Twitter : @baileyshowstead
You ask me how I could love her.
How I could love her when there were so many things in life I was giving up by choosing her.
A life of normality and financial security. A life where I offended no one and never had to look over my shoulder or worry about being disowned.
You ask me how I could choose her.
Over living the life of a woman completely provided for. A life where I want and need nothing. A life I could live in the open without guilt. You tell me “if it wasn’t wrong you wouldn’t keep it a secret”.
I think of her lips. Her arms. Her hips.
I think of the softness of her kiss and the warmth of her embrace, and her body pressed against me and my heart begins to race and - oh god, if there’s a god, I know he put me here for her. Just a single look and she captured my soul forever.
I think of her heart. Her whispers. Her smiles. Her giggles.
How I wrap her in my arms. What she looks like when she cries and how it makes me ache inside. How her hair curls in the morning, and all the ways she says she loves me.
And I ask, how could I not?
a.c.g. - “How could I not?” (via bellepommedeterre)
Mya Wright (via danimotown)
My dad just said: at your age you’ll probably wanna try a lot of things. Boys, girls, being a girl, being a boy, being punk or goth or spunky. And im okay with that. As long as you don’t come home and tell me youre a republican
parents who care
calls grocery store
me: do you have cotton balls
me: does it tickle when u walk
worker: -hangs up-