IBLEOBLEGOBBLE @sai-giallo - Tumblr Blog

annoying bisexuals, insane bisexuals, evil bisexuals….love u all

oh, i love that we decorate things! i love when we make our homes a little picture of ourselves! i love how you can step into a house and sometimes know - oh, you made this yours! i love looking up to a window and seeing the hopeful little green heads of potted plants! i love the cheery bright fairy lights in your childhood bedroom! i love that we paint our nails, i love that we dye our hair, i love that my house's front door changes color every year! i love finding little chalk pictures and little hearts in the pen aisle of art stores and little stickers on the outside of waterbottles! i love the clip-on earrings and the little tassels on the end of new bike handles and the bird on my favorite plate! i love that in the darkest part of the year, when things are scary and sparse, we put up cheesy snowmen and flamingos in scarves and big, tinseled hope - hi, there! we say, i'm in here! this is what my light wants to look like! come see! come see me!

unflavoured-me-deactivated20220

Voices you never forget

“Harry Potter” Dobby “Dobby is freee” Dobby “Yer a wizard Harry” Hagrid “Awawa kawawa” he who must not be named “RONALD WEASLY HOW DARE YOU STEAL THAT CAR” Molly Weasley “I DID MY WAITING, TWELVE YEARS OF IT, IN AZKABAN” Sirius Black “Turn to page 394” snape snape severus snape “Exppppppppeliarmus"snape snape severus snape "HARRY DIDJA PUTYA NAME INDA GOBLETOF FIYA?!?!?!” Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore “EXPECTO PATRONUUUUUUM” The boy who lived “That’s rubbish!!” Fred and George Weasley “Michief managed"Weasley twins "What. An. Idiot” Hermione Granger “Aresto Momentum” Albus Dumbledore “mh-hmh” satans wife Umbrige “My father will hear about this” Draco Malfoy “POTTER” Draco Malfoy “Bloody hell” Ronald Weasley “NOT MY DAUGHTER YOU B*TH” Molly Weasley “HUFFLEPUFF , SLYTHERIN, RAVENCLAW, GRYFFINDOR!!!” Sorting Hat “why couldn’t it be follow the butterflies” Won-Won

feel free to add more

liquidstar

tumblr is like “all lesbians listen to mr cracklepoop and the goat boys” and i have to google who the fuck that is and wonder why theyve been assigned as an aspect of my personality based on niche internet communities that are obsessed with them

liquidstar

i lost 3 followers for this so clearly you guys are big fans of mr cracklepoop and the goat boys, sorry i didnt mean to insult them

unclosetedanxiety

I’ve got a weird sort of imposter syndrome about being a lesbian, because every time I see something like “lesbians like X” or “lesbians are doing Y” I’m like “We do!? We are!?! Did I not get the memo!!? Am I not a real lesbian? Fuck!!!”

sai-giallo

Yes!!!

princelallemant-deactivated2021

some days you just gotta put on Take Me Home: Yearbook Edition by One Direction (2012) and stare at your wall for three hours straight

shebts-moved

all i do is listen to music really loudly while i walk in circles and daydream :/

viola-cola

The Girl: A Rant

I sat next to a girl on the bus home the other day. I hope she doesn’t mind that I’m still thinking of her late at night like a madman or stalker. There was just something about her that burned its way into my memory like an overexposed photograph. She had a face like a living statue. Her cheeks were round and her jaw curled back into the waves of her hair. Her too-wide eyes seemed to see everything despite the glazed stare she wore like a mask. And her mouth looked so gentle, as though she couldn’t sing anything but lullabies or love songs with it, that I could feel the softness of her voice. She was so flawless–so unblemished–I swear I saw Pygmalion smile in the light shining off her milky cheeks. I wondered, when I first saw her amongst the crowd of voices and sweat, if she had ever seen the magic of the 4 am moonlight, or if beautiful people never got lonely enough to see if they could find friends on the other side of the sky.

I think she played soccer. I caught a glimpse of her drawstring bag on the floor when I first sat down. She didn’t pay me any mind as I slid onto the too-small bench seat, my coat laid over my lap to hide the curve of my thighs from the students packed like sardines. She stared down at her phone, scrolling through an unending Instagram feed of selfies and posed photos with the same look I donned when I stared down another assigned reading page. I wondered, for awhile, if she had even noticed me as I watched her flip between accounts and twiddle her thumb to like posts of anything other than human faces. She had her legs spread, as though the whole seat was her own tiny empire and her feet were pressed into the seat back in front of her like a black widow spider waiting to catch a fly. I tried not to touch our knees as I hung out into the aisle, trying to swallow myself like a pill without a cup of water to wash me down.

I watched her for awhile. I knew full well that my own phone sat unused in my coat pocket, ready to drag me away with the angry songs that made me feel human, but I couldn’t help but trace the outline of her wrist and the curve of her ankles with colored inks and thread. She was my Mona Lisa for the stretched minutes I studied her, framed in the cold metal frame of the closed window in the tiny Louvre we shared. Except that her smile was too frightening for me to ruminate on like those scholars and enthusiasts. I was half afraid she would see me staring and half afraid I would get lost in her siren song and never stop wondering what made her unwind.

I don’t know why I still remember her so clearly. I don’t know why she was so beautiful that Thursday afternoon. Maybe it was the exhaustion of life casting a haze over my perception and making her seem so perfect. Maybe it was just misidentified jealousy. For all I know, she could have been an angel. I don’t know what she was or what she did to me, but I do know that now I can’t stop seeing her in everyone else. I can’t help but see the perfections in my friends faces. I can’t stop seeing the programming they run when they can’t seem to find anything to feel. And I swear I almost saw a chisel in my hand this morning. I don’t know who she was, but I don’t think I need to know. Whatever she did to me, I hope she knows that it worked.

–LS