Girls, do you want to be treated like an adult? Than wear this.. not this
Girls, do you want to be treated like an adult? Than wear this.. not this
Girls, do you want to be treated like an adult? Than wear this.. not this
Girls, do you want to be treated like an adult? Than wear this.. not this
Girls, do you want to be treated like an adult? Than wear this.. not this
Girls, do you want to be treated like an adult? Than wear this.. not this
Girls, do you want to be treated like an adult? Than wear this.. not this
Girls, do you want to be treated like an adult? Than wear this.. not this
Girls, do you want to be treated like an adult? Than wear this.. not this
Girls, do you want to be treated like an adult? Than wear this.. not this.
Kiss Kiss
(Source: joni-juliette)
Girls, do you want to be treated like an adult? Than wear this.. not this
Girls, do you want to be treated like an adult? Than wear this.. not this
Girls, do you want to be treated like an adult? Than wear this.. not this
This is my favorite painting of all time. I was only 17 years old when I landed in London to study Art History at Cambridge for part of the summer. The first time I ever went to the Fitzwilliam Museum… just down from Kings College, I fell in love. This painting is my first true love.
L’Umana Fragilità (Human Frailty) By Salvador Rosa. (1615-1673)
I have a confession to make. I am obsessed with men. I am obsessed with everything that makes them tick. I love watching them. I like to watch them walk, and I like watch them talk and laugh. I like to watch them angry. I like to watch them show interest in something with only their eyes. There is something about a man that is so beautiful in a way that I don’t quite understand. They are these gorgeous, mysterious, strong creatures that move in their own way of grace. I love their deep voices, and their deep breaths between sentences. I love when they walk and one foot moves in front of the other, and their wide shoulders adjust to each step. I love watching men go from walking; to standing still… and seeing what they decide to do with their arms. They relax and let their arms fall to their sides, or rest on their hips. I love the men who hold themselves when they stand still, like they are hugging their own shoulders. I love watching them stand still. I love how they talk, like they do not know how completely gorgeous and captivating they are just by moving their mouth. I love watching their jaw line move. I love their foreheads and eyebrows. I love to watch them move. I love to watch men run. They are such a complex, elegant machine that moves with so much stamina. I love the way they drive; with the way their hands rest on the steering wheel like they are the captain of the world. I love watching them breath. Their wide chests expanding with their lungs. I just love watching them.
I would never want to be a man. I love appreciating them from the other side. I believe that men are gifted to be what they are. They were made to be such beautiful creatures, and when you spot a real one, everything else stops. I have this striking frustration with the male species though. They are born to be this amazing shape of life, and they don’t all use it. I see boys walking around who could have become men years and years ago. It breaks my heart to see something so beautiful go to waste on only being half what it is meant to be. To be able to watch a man is a gift, and to be one must also be a gift. So why not be a really man? Don’t be a boy, don’t be a bitch. Walk with your shoulders; use those amazing things called legs. Be a man, you were born to do it.
