(by .kimmika)
I'm Christie. I spend most of my life around horses, to the point where everything I own is covered in either horse hair, hay or chaff. I love rain, the smell of books, men who can use swords, and music festivals.
• Myself
• Write to me
Underneath a newspaper sky.
• Myself
• Write to me
Underneath a newspaper sky.
“Nobody can save you but
Yourself
And you’re worth saving.
It’s a war not easily won
But if anything is worth winning then
This is it.”
— Charles Bukowski, “Nobody But You” (via middecember)
(Source: sugarelephants, via onefatcow)
Bad things don’t come in threes, they come in heaps and downpours and avalanches and torrents.
M’s surprise was that he’s been having riding lessons so we can go riding together, he’s so lovely!
The first was awful. Not awful in the sense that it was boring or unsatisfying or just mediocre. Awful in that he took everything from me and grinned while he did it.
The second was a broken boy with a lopsided smile and gentle hands. He tasted like salt and festivals.
The third didn’t understand personal space but sometimes that was what I needed.
The fourth wanted to fix me, to be the hero for staying with such an overwhelmingly sad girl.
The fifth had no last name, just a beer bottle, an empty tent and throbbing music.
The sixth was everything I liked and nothing good for me. Rough sex and jokes, drinking and furtive grins across the room.
The seventh had a baby face and loved jazz music.
The eighth was the first boy I loved. He was beautiful and intense and in a war-torn country thousands of miles away.
The ninth told me I had nice ass then shoved me behind a tree. I can still smell his aftershave.
The tenth had spidery eyelashes and hair the colour of the beach after a storm.
The eleventh danced for hours. We went to the beach at 3am and ran barefoot, hands entwined, into the sea.
The twelfth didn’t say a word. He had an artist’s hands.The thirteenth was a Cockney with a nice suit and awful taste in music.
The fourteenth bought me drinks and pretended to share my interests; later I found out it was part of a bet.
The fifteenth woke up tousle-haired and sleepy-eyed every morning yet still looked good. He didn’t try to save me and that was why I loved him.
The sixteenth had a smile that lit up everything around him and tattoos to hide his scars.
And the seventeenth holds me when I can’t hold it together anymore. He makes me tea in the morning and over-analyses absolutely everything. He is flawed and I love him.
My new ride, Lalique, is a lovely 16hh TB x Dutch Warmblood who likes hunting and running really really fast
“I demand unconditional love and complete freedom. That is why I am terrible.”
— Tomaz Salamun (via syngling)
(Source: secretsthatsell, via onefatcow)
