we're not kids anymore.

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d e v o n

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@anime-runner24
insp
me: yeah im really tough
me: [gets scared by text notifications when they’re too loud]
me: [easily startled when people tap me on the shoulder]
me: [cries under any sort of pressure ever]
me: [cries when anyone raises their voice higher than their average volume]
me: so tough
id like to update you guys on my toughness and inform you that today i put my cup down too loudly and scared myself
Some people are good at being in love. Some people are good at love. Two very different things, I think. Being in love is the romantic part—sex all the time, midday naps in the sheets, the jokes, the laughs, the fun, long conversations with no pauses, overwhelming separation anxiety … Just the best sides of both people, you know? But love begins when the excitement of being in love starts to fade: the stress of life sets in, the butterflies disappear, the sex becomes a chore, the tears, the sadness, the arguments, the cattiness … The worst parts of both people. But if you still want that person by your side through all of those things … that’s when you know—that’s when you know you’re good at love. - Matthew Healy
(via teilzeitnerdinliebtregenboegen)
Which one would you choose?
Sleep… Forever may I sleep? In an unmarked grave? Where no one can ever find me And not know how much I never gave? And may I rot with undying decay Until there’s nothing left No memory or pictures of me Nothing there to forget May I forever sleep, please? And not remember my life or my world I pity those who knew me Who knew such a worthless girl One so hideous and ignorant One so hated it’s true I prayed endlessly and never stopped dreaming That one day, I could be like him, her, or even you Be anyone else but myself And have the beauty I’d always wanted to hold No more rainy storms in my mind Only love, to warm the cold But it never happened, this love I bled for, it’s time I just let go I’ve always been among the beautiful, but it’s something I would never know The time has come but not yet gone, the wounds I’ve cut are deep I’ll watch my blood flow and fall like a waterfall of pain May I forever sleep?
POEM (not mine)
She paints a pretty picture, but the story has a twist Her paintbrush is a razor, her canvas is her wrist.
She paints a pretty picture in a color that’s blood red. While using her sharp paintbrush, she ends up finally dead.
The pretty picture is fading quite slowly on her arm. Blood no longer runs through her, she can no longer do harm.
Yes, she painted a pretty picture but the story has a twist, you see, her mind was her razor, and her heart was her wrist.
I think I did a good job. full-colour shaquille-ofeels
I am going to attempt at drawing this so I will be right back:)