maybe

Ask me anything   Submit   my name's Markie
I live in Washington state.

if you'd like to let me know how much you hate/love/carpet/smell/see me, markieaok@gmail.com is the place to go.

wereallalittle-mad:

zazzybuttcheeks:

plur-panda:





aw shit get it wednesday

HA! I almost forgot to reblog this today 

Every Wednesday from now on. 

Its wednesday yo


this never comes on my dash at the right time anymore :( i think i went two weeks without it and now i’m reblogging it on a thursday

GOD DAMN YES FINALLY BLOGGED IT ON A WEDNESDAY

wereallalittle-mad:

zazzybuttcheeks:

plur-panda:

aw shit get it wednesday

HA! I almost forgot to reblog this today 

Every Wednesday from now on. 

Its wednesday yo

this never comes on my dash at the right time anymore :( i think i went two weeks without it and now i’m reblogging it on a thursday

GOD DAMN YES FINALLY BLOGGED IT ON A WEDNESDAY

(Source: get-on-the-carousel, via jevsie)

— 1 month ago with 1989051 notes

styleandsubstance:

I have learned that when sadness comes to visit me, all I can do is say “I see you.” I spend some time with it, get up, and say goodbye. I don’t push it away, I own it. And because I own it, I let it go.

— 1 month ago with 42 notes

Léa Seydoux - Grazia France - August 2013

Léa Seydoux - Grazia France - August 2013

(Source: sylviagetyourheadouttheoven, via gothbrat)

— 3 months ago with 1199 notes
nedhepburn:

nedhepburn:

This one time I painted a living room with a girl.
This was a handful of years back. It was about eight months before the huge, flame-out of a breakup. That day, though? That day we painted the living room? It was pretty uneventful. We painted my parents living room for $50 between us and a pizza. That was it. I think we watched Anchorman or something after that.
But it still holds as on of the most indelible memories I have. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not still in love, it happened, it was good, it ended, and we’ve both moved on. But I’ll never forget that day. Because it’s never, in the long run, about the grand gestures. You can fly across the world and show up on her doorstep with a rose in your teeth and a ring in a little velvet box but I can guarantee you that - more often than not - she’s going to remember the time you built the birdhouse in the back yard, or what have you, a whole lot more.
Life wasn’t meant to be taken in large movements. The next day will inevitably arrive, you’ll sleep, and the moment will have passed. But when you have a hundred thousand small moments, you can step back and appreciate the picture a lot more than metaphorically blowing your load on some grand moment that, in all honesty, look, you’re not Bruce Fucking Springsteen, you’re not going to be able to blow everyone’s mind every single night. You’re not Romeo and/or Juliet. There’s no reason to drink the poison together in some flame-out gesture. So that leaves us with the small stuff. It’s all about the detail.
That’s what love is. Attention to detail.
And the moment will end. And then things will get boring. And it might get a little quiet. And it might all end horribly. And you might hate eachother at the end. And you might walk away from eachother one day and never speak again. But that’s just how it goes.
But she’ll remember the time you held the door open for her on your first date.She’ll remember the time you laughed at her impression of the landlady.She’ll remember the time you stayed up all night that first time. She’ll remember the small things a lot longer than the big ones.
But everything ends. And I’ll tell you why you have to make the small things, the small moments count so much more:
One day, probably a while longer from now, when old age takes ahold of someone, she might just only remember your smile. Everything you ever did together, every second, every moment, every beat, every morning spent in bed, every evening spent together on the sofa, all of that - gone. Everything you ever did will be reduced to the head of a pin. She won’t remember your name. She’ll just remember your smile, and she’ll smile. She won’t know why. It’s a base, gut reaction. But she’ll smile, uncontrollably, and it will come from somewhere so deep as to know that you touched her on a primal, honest, and true level that no scientist, scholar, or savant could ever begin to explain. There is no more. There is nothing else. There is just this: She’ll remember your smile, and she’ll smile.
And you know what? That’s all that really matters in the end.

I wrote this 2 and a half years ago, four days after I moved to New York. It’s since become the most reblogged thing I’ve ever done. It’s crazy to see it still resonate with people a couple years later :’) 

oh yeah, I just died.

nedhepburn:

nedhepburn:

This one time I painted a living room with a girl.

This was a handful of years back. It was about eight months before the huge, flame-out of a breakup. That day, though? That day we painted the living room? It was pretty uneventful. We painted my parents living room for $50 between us and a pizza. That was it. I think we watched Anchorman or something after that.

But it still holds as on of the most indelible memories I have. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not still in love, it happened, it was good, it ended, and we’ve both moved on. But I’ll never forget that day. Because it’s never, in the long run, about the grand gestures. You can fly across the world and show up on her doorstep with a rose in your teeth and a ring in a little velvet box but I can guarantee you that - more often than not - she’s going to remember the time you built the birdhouse in the back yard, or what have you, a whole lot more.

Life wasn’t meant to be taken in large movements. The next day will inevitably arrive, you’ll sleep, and the moment will have passed. But when you have a hundred thousand small moments, you can step back and appreciate the picture a lot more than metaphorically blowing your load on some grand moment that, in all honesty, look, you’re not Bruce Fucking Springsteen, you’re not going to be able to blow everyone’s mind every single night. You’re not Romeo and/or Juliet. There’s no reason to drink the poison together in some flame-out gesture. So that leaves us with the small stuff. It’s all about the detail.

That’s what love is. Attention to detail.

And the moment will end. And then things will get boring. And it might get a little quiet. And it might all end horribly. And you might hate eachother at the end. And you might walk away from eachother one day and never speak again. But that’s just how it goes.

But she’ll remember the time you held the door open for her on your first date.
She’ll remember the time you laughed at her impression of the landlady.
She’ll remember the time you stayed up all night that first time.
She’ll remember the small things a lot longer than the big ones.

But everything ends. And I’ll tell you why you have to make the small things, the small moments count so much more:

One day, probably a while longer from now, when old age takes ahold of someone, she might just only remember your smile. Everything you ever did together, every second, every moment, every beat, every morning spent in bed, every evening spent together on the sofa, all of that - gone. Everything you ever did will be reduced to the head of a pin. She won’t remember your name. She’ll just remember your smile, and she’ll smile. She won’t know why. It’s a base, gut reaction. But she’ll smile, uncontrollably, and it will come from somewhere so deep as to know that you touched her on a primal, honest, and true level that no scientist, scholar, or savant could ever begin to explain. There is no more. There is nothing else. There is just this: She’ll remember your smile, and she’ll smile.

And you know what? That’s all that really matters in the end.

I wrote this 2 and a half years ago, four days after I moved to New York. It’s since become the most reblogged thing I’ve ever done. It’s crazy to see it still resonate with people a couple years later :’) 

oh yeah, I just died.

— 7 months ago with 251380 notes
"It is unrealistic and unfair to ask women to hide when the sun goes down. We deserve better than fear and keys between our knuckles. As a city we can do better than this."
— 7 months ago with 11073 notes

vrban:

I can no longer read my favorite book
Or take my coffee the way I like it
Without thinking of you

Because I foolishly shared all my secrets
With a person who gave me nothing
In return

(via whenshesings)

— 1 year ago with 316 notes