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The End of Me
She stands on the edge of the cliff, the loneliest figure in the whole world. There is no twinkle left in her eyes and occasionally she runs a hand along her body to make sure its still there. When she feels the beating, a thing reduced to the size of grain, she drops her hand as if the pulse will sting her. She scans the horizon again and she shivers.

colddrops:

breath (by: maru ゜)

sinkling:

Urban by jennifée on Flickr.

adorus:

at La Colombe (by N+T*)

(Source: 93pumpkins)

myidealhome:

(Source: sinkling)

bitrates:

untitled by bawkbawk on Flickr.

wildstag:

untitled by iseloom on Flickr.