Aubrey. 20. Junior in college. Cellist, singer, songwriter. Christian and believer in true love. Optimist, dreamer, hopeless romantic.

Here on my blog you will see:
Movies: Harry Potter. The Hunger Games. Avengers.
Shows: The Vampire Diaries. Gossip Girl. Glee. American Horror Story. Dexter.
People: Lady Gaga. One Direction. Jennifer Lawrence. Emma Stone. Chord Overstreet. Ian Somerhalder. Chris Evans. Marilyn Monroe. Lana Del Rey.
OTPs: Harmony. Chair. Delena.
Inspiration: Songs. Jokes. Poetry. Prose. Quotes. Disney.
And a bit of personal stuff, because writing your feelings down is never wrong in my book.

archive.  ask.  about me.  the armada.  OTP's.

“This isn’t a war, Steve, it’s a back alley… a back alley with zombies.”

I bought new lingerie and lit candles and picked out a playlist and HE HAD TO WORK LATE


What if, in another universe, I deserve you?

Hear me out. There’s this philosopher from the 1890s named William James, and he coined this theory about “the multiverse” which suggests that a hypothetical set of multiple universes comprises everything that can possibly exist simultaneously.

Are you following? The entirety of space, time, matter and energy is all happening at once in different timelines: It’s the idea of parallel universes. Right? So okay, let’s presume the multiverse is real.

Well then, maybe somewhere in those infinite universes is one, or several, where I deserve you.

Maybe there’s a universe out there — happening now — where we end up together and when I close my eyes at night, I’m not dreaming the way a normal person would. Instead I’m seeing flashes of our lives in the multiverse. They’re not simple dreams because I miss you, right? They’re scientific, anachronistic visions.

For instance:

In this universe, I don’t want a family, but maybe in another, I’m more of the type to settle down. Maybe there’s a universe where you hold my hand while I give birth to our daughter in a white hospital room with pink flowers and fuzzy teddy bears on the window sill. Where we take family vacations and pose for dorky pictures in our neon bathing suits on the sands of a Florida beach. Where we curl up to watch a cheesy movie at the end of a long day in our big, green, suburban house once the kids have fallen asleep.

Maybe there’s a universe where we are middle-aged and taking our child to college and bickering over where to put her dresser or what posters she should hang up. Where you kiss her on the forehead ‘goodbye’ and we drive home in contented, proud silence, your fingers grazing my knuckles, our wedding rings glistening. Where we both have gray hair and we laugh and smile and hug and drink lemonade on the porch.

Maybe there’s a universe where that’s the life I want. Where I don’t second guess everything and I’m not afraid of commitment and of the future and of love. Maybe there’s a universe without all the noise in my head and the pride that makes me so fiercely independent and the coldness in my heart that I can turn on and off like a security fence.

Maybe there’s a universe where I’m the right person for you. Where I adore every nice thing you did for me without starting to resent you. A universe where you actually end up with someone who appreciates you. Where no one becomes a doormat. Where both of us can shed our baggage and curiosity and issues. A universe where we’re happy — without wondering if that happiness is some messed-up Jenga game ready to topple at the slightest quiver. A universe where we’re comfortable and sure, and we have cats.

Maybe there’s a universe where we fall asleep next to each other every night like spoons, like two innocent bunnies — my face buried in your neck, hugging your warmth — and we both don’t want anything or anybody else. Where we don’t want more, we just want each other.

Maybe there’s a universe where I don’t covet so much all the time and where I’m content and where I don’t wonder about picking up and moving to Japan without saying anything to anyone and where at this very juncture, I can just know I’ll always want to come home and cook dinner with you.

If you think of it all this way, then it’s like neither of us did anything wrong.

You just found me in the wrong universe. That’s all. This is, as they say, the darkest timeline. Everywhere else, nay, “everywhen” else — us in the Civil War, us in Ancient Egypt, us in the swinging ’60s — we are happy.

If this theory holds, well, by the law of averages, there had to be one universe — just this one — where we don’t end up together. Here and now just happens to be it. If you think of it this way, nothing is our fault.

So see, that explains everything. We’re not together anymore because of the multiverse.

Well, isn’t that comforting?

If you’re sad, do like I do and just think of the other ‘verses. The ones where I believe in love and where I don’t hate myself and where I never feel the need to kamikaze relationships. A universe where we can have nice things. It’s helpful, right?

Because you could have loved me forever. And maybe in another universe, I let you.



Last week, I learned that the English language has more euphemisms for death than any other language. I learned that the ancient Greeks had no word for the colour blue and that the Hawain alphabet has only twelve letters. I spent last week hollowing out a little place in my heart and filling it with worry. What does that say about us? Do we really go out of our way to avoid death like that? How did the Greeks describe the sea? Are twelve letters really enough? Does every language have a word for love? Every language should have a word for love. And compassion. And gentleness. And figs and snow and that soft sensitive part on the inside of one’s arm. We should have words for everything so that we don’t feel alone. We need very very very specific words for all of the different kinds of sad and even more specific words for the kinds of happy. What if we were able to talk about everything? I want to tell you how I feel and I want to be precise. Sometimes ‘good’ just isn’t enough and few understand what I mean when I say that I feel like lightning.

(via karengilan)


being romantically frustrated is 1000000 worse than being sexually frustrated because you can get yourself off but you can’t spoon with yourself and kiss your own forehead

(via blake-crawford)


every lover is a storm chaser.
every good heart has lost its roof.


i can’t believe the leader of the free world cheated on jay


I did a thing for a contest and I think it turned out pretty durn cute

Well I hope you fucking win because this is a win!
'consequence v2' - a theme for tumblr by sweet themes.