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Diplomat’s Son - Vampire Weekend

that night I smoked a joint with my best friend,
we found ourselves in bed,
when I woke up he was gone.



Gabriel García Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude
Submitted by overdosedonsuccess.


if i was someones favourite blog i think i would cry

… And that wherever they might be they always remember that the past was a lie, that memory has no return, that every spring gone by could never be recovered, and that the wildest and most tenacious love was an ephemeral truth in the end.
One Hundred Years of Solitude, Gabriel García Márquez (via themoonisgreen)