My heart will always be soft. I will never stop looking for the good and love in everything. You can’t take that away from me.

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@maddyyray
My heart will always be soft. I will never stop looking for the good and love in everything. You can’t take that away from me.
2018 was the year of challenges & transformation
2019 will be the year of soulmates & turning your dreams into reality
ok universe, i’m ready to feel good things. make me feel good things.
“It scared me how easy it was for you to change your mind. One second, we were still smiling at each other. Another second later, you had not answered my call and blocked my number.”
— That’s why I am still scared to love again. // A.W. // Late night thoughts #91 (via hereliesmybrokenheart)
can’t wait for the day someone actually stays
when you n ur babe standing on rocks
Lame ass bitch deserve to be snitch for that lame tweet. “Oh look at me, the Burger King sandwich bag thief, such rarity!” Foh
oh it s dat bitch who sued for “cat calling” lol
????? bicth that’s ME
was the hijab in the display picture the only thing that stood out to u …. not the …………… pregnant phineas …………
If “belonging” in America means that being with pregnant phineas is wrong then I don’t wanna be right
awsten:
geoff: dont say it
awsten:
awsten: toes are just fingers for the feet
Sometimes, when I see you in a crowd, and I pretend not to, I remember the way you
looked the last night I saw you and you said in another life we would be happy. And I said in another life we would be
free from one another’s ghosts.
— Chloe N. Clark,. from “The Double Dark Theory of Our Universe,” published in Pidgeonholes
in one universe
The Morning After I Killed Myself
The morning after I killed myself, I woke up.
I made myself breakfast in bed. I added salt and pepper to my eggs and used my toast for a cheese and bacon sandwich. I squeezed a grapefruit into a juice glass. I scraped the ashes from the frying pan and rinsed the butter off the counter. I washed the dishes and folded the towels.
The morning after I killed myself, I fell in love. Not with the boy down the street or the middle school principal. Not with the everyday jogger or the grocer who always left the avocados out of the bag. I fell in love with my mother and the way she sat on the floor of my room holding each rock from my collection in her palms until they grew dark with sweat. I fell in love with my father down at the river as he placed my note into a bottle and sent it into the current. With my brother who once believed in unicorns but who now sat in his desk at school trying desperately to believe I still existed.
The morning after I killed myself, I walked the dog. I watched the way her tail twitched when a bird flew by or how her pace quickened at the sight of a cat. I saw the empty space in her eyes when she reached a stick and turned around to greet me so we could play catch but saw nothing but sky in my place. I stood by as strangers stroked her muzzle and she wilted beneath their touch like she did once for mine.
The morning after I killed myself, I went back to the neighbors’ yard where I left my footprints in concrete as a two year old and examined how they were already fading. I picked a few daylilies and pulled a few weeds and watched the elderly woman through her window as she read the paper with the news of my death. I saw her husband spit tobacco into the kitchen sink and bring her her daily medication.
The morning after I killed myself, I watched the sun come up. Each orange tree opened like a hand and the kid down the street pointed out a single red cloud to his mother.
The morning after I killed myself, I went back to that body in the morgue and tried to talk some sense into her. I told her about the avocados and the stepping stones, the river and her parents. I told her about the sunsets and the dog and the beach.
The morning after I killed myself, I tried to unkill myself, but couldn’t finish what I started.
By Meggie Royer