Old Haunts

ruineshumaines:

(by Lara Alegre)

Posted on February 2, 2012 via as below so above and beyond, I imagine. with 224 notes

Source: Flickr / cordellia
(via ruineshumaines)

Posted on February 2, 2012 via as below so above and beyond, I imagine. with 406 notes

Source: carnegriffiths.com
ruineshumaines:

up in the clouds again (by ►i.Anton)

Posted on February 2, 2012 via as below so above and beyond, I imagine. with 144 notes

Source: Flickr / ianton
ruineshumaines:

Some things you’ll never see (by Nathan Spotts)

Posted on February 2, 2012 via as below so above and beyond, I imagine. with 19,712 notes

Source: behance.net
lori-rocks:

Pixie House
By Vincent Bourilhon

Posted on February 1, 2012 via ~Lori with 592 notes

Source: lori-rocks
black-wolves:

(via 70/365 | Flickr – Compartilhamento de fotos!)

Posted on February 1, 2012 via black-wolves with 296 notes

Source: Flickr / julianbialowas
black-wolves:

I will remember you. (by Rona Keller)

Posted on February 1, 2012 via black-wolves with 162 notes

Source: Flickr / ronaaa
Posted on February 1, 2012 via ~Lori with 227 notes

Source: lori-rocks
(via art-homes)

Posted on February 1, 2012 via my ideal home with 3,888 notes

Source: myidealhome
(via designcloud)

Posted on November 30, 2011 via izmia.com with 27,515 notes

Source: izmia
Grief can destroy you—or focus you. You can decide a relationship was all for nothing if it had to end in death, and you alone. Or you can realize that every moment of it had more meaning than you dared to recognize at the time, so much meaning it scared you, so you just lived, just took for granted the love and laughter of each day, and didn’t allow yourself to consider the sacredness of it. But when it’s over and you’re alone, you begin to see that it wasn’t just a movie and a dinner together, not just watching sunsets together, not just scrubbing a floor or washing dishes together or worrying over a high electric bill. It was everything, it was the why of life, every event and precious moment of it. The answer to the mystery of existence is the love you shared sometimes so imperfectly, and when the loss wakes you to the deeper beauty of it, to the sanctity of it, you can’t get off your knees for a long time, you’re driven to your knees not by the weight of the loss but by gratitude for what preceded the loss. And the ache is always there, but one day not the emptiness, because to nurture the emptiness, to take solace in it, is to disrespect the gift of life.

Dean Koontz, Odd Hours (via black-wolves)

Posted on November 7, 2011 via black-wolves with 122 notes

Source: black-wolves
(via rideheight)

Posted on November 7, 2011 via with 35,139 notes

Source: fuckingjuicy
(via black-wolves)

Posted on November 7, 2011 via black-wolves with 227 notes

Source: Flickr / nudibranches
(via designcloud)

Posted on November 7, 2011 via simplypi with 2,304 notes

Source: simplypi
(via black-wolves)

Posted on November 7, 2011 via black-wolves with 429 notes

Source: Flickr / briceportolano

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