"YAAAAAS HARRY GET IT WITH THAT BLONDE GIRL ON THE BULL YAAAAS"
harry: [shoves her off onto the ground and keeps riding like he was born to do it]
HARRY STYLES riding a mechanical bull at The Trophy Room in Austin, TX (if you use this please credit it)
harry puts his hair in a bun when he gon ride #confirmed
harry knows how to ride it #confirmed
The first ever photographs of lightning shot by amateur photographer William N. Jennings between 1885 and 1890
little harold is so cute
I whispered your name inside a paper bag,
sealed it with my mouth, and held it
with two hands, fragile.
The instructions were to breathe you in
full and wanting, but I took a U-turn
somewhere between seeing you with her
and seeing you without her.
Both times, I pulled the breaks, closed my eyes,
hoping for an immediate traffic, for cars
to line up on my spine to keep me from running
towards a possible heartbreak.
I drive towards you instead.
I still shop at midnight for cold milk,
opened fridges just to close them again,
opened doors to just let myself out.
Nowadays, I don’t let people in—they only leave
stains on my carpet, they park their cars wrong,
they keep asking questions
and I have but mistakes for answers.
Somewhere in these gaps I take a shower,
water the pea plants on my window, still finding time
to whisper a part of you inside that paper bag.
First, your name. Then, mine.
I tell myself that that was the one place
we had each other.
When I opened it again, I realized
I never had you, you were only ever a whisper.