They say every atom in our bodies was once part of a star. Maybe I’m not leaving. Maybe I’m going home.
Gattaca, 1997 (via artvevo)
Nothing ever ends poetically. It ends and we turn it into poetry. All that blood was never once beautiful. It was just red.
IT SUDDENLY GOT REALLY DARK IN HERE LIKE as if someone stood in front of our brightest lamp and it freaked me out so bad cause i thought “GHOSTS??? DEMONS?????” and i turned around and all i saw was