The beauty of starting over is counting to 3 and knowing that anything before 1 and 2 doesn't count.

Though it is only a small thing, I crave this type of creativity. Such a random thing, business cards! The most creative thing I’ve done, as of late, is make myself an ankle bracelet. 

Some walks are meant to be taken Alone. 

(Source: awayywithme)

(Source: awayywithme)

fly.away.

fly.away.

(Source: thepocketmouse)

discophile:

sugarr-rush:

by Lina Stiggson @ Admiral Tattoo, Amsterdam

discophile:

sugarr-rush:

by Lina Stiggson @ Admiral Tattoo, Amsterdam

A free bird leaps on the back of the wind   
and floats downstream   
till the current ends 
and dips his wing in the orange sun rays
and dares to claim the sky.
But a bird that stalks down his narrow cage
can seldom see throughhis bars of rage
his wings are clipped and   
his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing.
The caged bird sings   
with a fearful trill   
of things unknown   
but longed for still   
and his tune is heard   
on the distant hill   
for the caged bird   
sings of freedom.
The free bird thinks of another breeze
and the trade winds soft through the sighing trees
and the fat worms waiting on a dawn bright lawn
and he names the sky his own
But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams   
his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream   
his wings are clipped and 
his feet are tied   
so he opens his throat to sing.
The caged bird sings   
with a fearful trill   
of things unknown   
but longed for still   
and his tune is heard   
on the distant hill   
for the caged bird   
sings of freedom.<3

A free bird leaps on the back of the wind   

and floats downstream   

till the current ends

and dips his wing in the orange sun rays

and dares to claim the sky.


But a bird that stalks down his narrow cage

can seldom see throughhis bars of rage

his wings are clipped and   

his feet are tied

so he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings   

with a fearful trill   

of things unknown   

but longed for still   

and his tune is heard   

on the distant hill   

for the caged bird   

sings of freedom.

The free bird thinks of another breeze

and the trade winds soft through the sighing trees

and the fat worms waiting on a dawn bright lawn

and he names the sky his own

But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams   

his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream   

his wings are clipped and

his feet are tied   

so he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings   

with a fearful trill   

of things unknown   

but longed for still   

and his tune is heard   

on the distant hill   

for the caged bird   

sings of freedom.<3