The legacies people leave behind in you.
My handwriting is the same style as the teacher’s who I had when I was nine. I’m now twenty one and he’s been dead eight years but my i’s still curve the same way as his.
I watched the last season of a TV show recently but I started it with my friend in high school. We haven’t spoken in four years.
I make lentil soup through the recipe my gran gave me.
I curl my hair the way my best friend showed me.
I learned to love books because my father loved them first.
How terrifying, how excruciatingly painful to acknowledge this. That I am a jigsaw puzzle of everyone I have briefly known and loved. I carry them on with me even if I don’t know it. How beautiful.
absolutely obsessed with these tags
Humanity is mimicking our loved ones to wove it into our lives forevermore.
Isn’t it sweet how we love people through such small daily gestures? Isn’t it sad that they will never know?
Something something to love is to be changed, and I am a patchwork of all that I have cherished
























