You're The Yellow Bird I've Been Waiting For.
hi hello my name's mireya i'm only here for the free food
me sweet tunes yo omg words  /


we’ve gone from 






and i’m frankly afraid of what we’ve got coming next


Does he kiss your eyelids in the morning
when you start to raise your head?
And does he sing to you incessantly
from the space between your bed and wall?
Does he walk around all day at school with his feet inside your shoes
looking down every few steps to pretend he walks with you?
Oh, does he know that place below your neck
that is your favorite to be touched?
And does he cry through broken sentences, like
“I love you far too much!”

Does he lay awake listening to your breath?
Worry that you smoke too many cigarettes?
Is he coughing now on a bathroom floor?
For every speck of tile, there’s a thousand more
you won’t ever see, but must hold inside yourself eternally.

Well, I drug your ghost across the country and we plotted out my death.
In every city, memories would whisper, “Here is where you rest.”
I was determined in Chicago, but I dug my teeth into my knees, and
I settled for a telephone and sang into your machine,

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine.”

I kissed a girl with a broken jaw that her father gave to her.
She had eyes bright enough to burn me; they reminded me of yours.
In a story told, she was a little girl, in a red-rouge sun-bruised field, and
there were rows of ripe tomatoes where a secret was concealed, and
it rose like thunder clapped under our hands, and
it stretched for centuries to a diary entry’s end where I wrote,

“You make me happy! Oh, when skies are gray.”

Well, the clock’s heart, it hangs inside its open chest
with hands stretched toward the calendar hanging itself,
but I will not weep for those dying days.
For all the ones who’ve left, there’s a few that stayed, and
they found me here, and pulled me from the grass

where I was laid.

I want to be doing this forever. I want to be performing when I’m old and withered and people are asking me why I’m still alive.
written by Harry Styles (via bullshithaz)


Harry repeatedly yelling “no”, and then later laughing maniacally.

I don’t think you ever get used to being this famous. I’ve learnt how to keep things separate or at a distance. I’ve nothing to hide. But seeing this as work, like a job, means I can take a step back. It’s me right now in front of you and in the papers but it’s not all of me. If you give yourself entirely to the business, you’d end up going mad. And I’m not mad. Not yet.
written by harry GQ magazine (via nekozayn)



if the boys sang Best Song Ever while they were on The X-Factor



Luke Pritchard talks about tracks from Junk of The Heart <3

544 notes
June 22nd

You can fill up pages and pages of stuff fans want to say to Julian Casablancas, but this is the only one that really matters. Plain and simple.
You’re regularly scheduled ridiculousness continues August 24th.