Discover Top Posts Tagged with #0318

I was yawning up a storm so I decided to come lay in bed incase I fell asleep, but it’s also so I can sleep off into tomorrow. I wish I could press fast forward on Fathers Day. The day sucks for plenty reasons and I’m gonna have to fake a smile. 🥲

#personal #love this for me #wtf dad #0318

0318 - Carvanha

The Savage Pokemon

Water - Dark

2' 7" - Around the height of a Cheetah.

45.9 lbs - Around the weight of an Otter.

From the Hoenn region.

Equally male and female species.

Evolves into Sharpedo (0319)

Info:

Many boats get sunk by Carvanha year after year, entire hulls torn apart by the Pokemon's powerful and well-developed jaws and sharp fangs.

Each school of Carvanha has its own territory in jungle rivers, and they will defend their territory ferociously.

Carvanha are acturally extremely timid Pokemon, only finding their courage when in groups of 5 or more, and they will not attack prey or opponents alone.

Should they catch the faintest whiff of blood, they will swarm en masse.

Carvanha often fight with Basculin for food.

#pokemon #gen 3 #the savage pokemon #carvanha #0318

2026.3.18

#0318 #18 #dog #2026 #202603

Empty wallet.

I used to believe him when he said words were cheap.

I think that was where I first went wrong.

Because to me, words have never been something that comes easily. They have always felt like something that costs.

Not in the way they are spoken, but in the way they are meant.

They are the closest thing I have to offering myself. The way I choose someone, again and again, without needing to say it any louder than that.

So when I speak, when I write, when I say I love you,

there is nothing casual about it.

Nothing that is thrown away.

Only something given with the quiet understanding that it will stay.

So when he dismissed words as something surface, something easily faked, it was not just a difference in perspective.

It made me feel as though the way I loved was somehow lesser. As though what I gave him, the most honest form of myself, was the lowest form of love.

But I’ve come to realise something much quieter, and much harsher.

Words are not cheap.

They only feel cheap in the hands of someone who does not honour them.

Because when I said I would try, I tried. When I said I loved him, I meant it every single time. It never diluted. It never became routine. It never became something I said out of convenience.

If words were truly cheap, then they would not have required so much from me.

They would not have asked for consistency. For intention. For truth.

And yet I gave all of that, without hesitation.

So no, words are not cheap.

What is cheap, is saying them without meaning them. What is easy, is refusing to say them at all,so that you never have to be held accountable to them.

He called words meaningless, but maybe what he really meant was that he did not want to be bound by them.

Because words, when they are real, demand something in return. They ask to be honoured. They ask to be lived up to.

And he was afraid of that.

Afraid of commitment. Afraid of promises. Afraid of the quiet responsibility that comes with choosing someone fully.

So it was easier to believe that words themselves were the problem.

That they were shallow. That they were surface.

Rather than admit that he was the one who could not hold their weight.

He said he loved me in his own way. And maybe he did.

But that same love still left space for other women’s attention. Still avoided working on what we had. Still refused to imagine a future where I was certain.

And I am left wondering,

if words are truly so meaningless, then why did mine carry so much truth?

Why did I mean every single one I ever said?

Why was my love, expressed in the very language he dismissed, deeper than the actions he believed made him better?

Sometimes I wonder how I let his perspective shrink me, when I had been the one carrying the greater weight of love all along.

Maybe one day, he will meet someone else who loves through words.

And maybe then he will understand that words are not cheap when they are real.

Because I meant mine.

Every single one.

And maybe that is why this lingers the way it does, because none of it was light to me. None of it was something I said just to fill the silence.

I meant the encouragement. I meant the love. I meant every attempt to reach him in the ways I knew how.

But to him, it was always something smaller. Something surface. Something that didn’t need to be taken seriously.

And I think that is what hurts in a quieter way.

Not that he didn’t love me enough, but that he never really saw the way I loved him.

He never understood that those words were not something I gave easily.

They were something I chose.

And now they’re still here, all of them, unchanged, unwatered, still carrying the same weight they always did.

Just. With nowhere left to go.

#0318

good morning.

#good morning #breakfast #memory #march 2026 #0318

Most Beloved Wrestler Tournament

#0318

Harley Cameron

Zack Sabre Jr.

Voting ended onMar 8

#Most Beloved Wrestler Tournament #Harley Cameron #Zack Sabre Jr.#0318

August 16 - World Of Dweebs by Graham Kartna

World Of Dweebs by Graham Kartna

Bandcamp / Youtube

#August #Graham Kartna #Experimental #Album a Day 2025 #0318

Empty wallet.

I used to believe him when he said words were cheap.

I think that was where I first went wrong.

Because to me, words have never been something that comes easily. They have always felt like something that costs.

Not in the way they are spoken, but in the way they are meant.

They are the closest thing I have to offering myself. The way I choose someone, again and again, without needing to say it any louder than that.

So when I speak, when I write, when I say I love you,

there is nothing casual about it.

Nothing that is thrown away.

Only something given with the quiet understanding that it will stay.

So when he dismissed words as something surface, something easily faked, it was not just a difference in perspective.

It made me feel as though the way I loved was somehow lesser. As though what I gave him, the most honest form of myself, was the lowest form of love.

But I’ve come to realise something much quieter, and much harsher.

Words are not cheap.

They only feel cheap in the hands of someone who does not honour them.

Because when I said I would try, I tried. When I said I loved him, I meant it every single time. It never diluted. It never became routine. It never became something I said out of convenience.

If words were truly cheap, then they would not have required so much from me.

They would not have asked for consistency. For intention. For truth.

And yet I gave all of that, without hesitation.

So no, words are not cheap.

What is cheap, is saying them without meaning them. What is easy, is refusing to say them at all,so that you never have to be held accountable to them.

He called words meaningless, but maybe what he really meant was that he did not want to be bound by them.

Because words, when they are real, demand something in return. They ask to be honoured. They ask to be lived up to.

And he was afraid of that.

Afraid of commitment. Afraid of promises. Afraid of the quiet responsibility that comes with choosing someone fully.

So it was easier to believe that words themselves were the problem.

That they were shallow. That they were surface.

Rather than admit that he was the one who could not hold their weight.

He said he loved me in his own way. And maybe he did.

But that same love still left space for other women’s attention. Still avoided working on what we had. Still refused to imagine a future where I was certain.

And I am left wondering,

if words are truly so meaningless, then why did mine carry so much truth?

Why did I mean every single one I ever said?

Why was my love, expressed in the very language he dismissed, deeper than the actions he believed made him better?

Sometimes I wonder how I let his perspective shrink me, when I had been the one carrying the greater weight of love all along.

Maybe one day, he will meet someone else who loves through words.

And maybe then he will understand that words are not cheap when they are real.

Because I meant mine.

Every single one.

And maybe that is why this lingers the way it does, because none of it was light to me. None of it was something I said just to fill the silence.

I meant the encouragement. I meant the love. I meant every attempt to reach him in the ways I knew how.

But to him, it was always something smaller. Something surface. Something that didn’t need to be taken seriously.

And I think that is what hurts in a quieter way.

Not that he didn’t love me enough, but that he never really saw the way I loved him.

He never understood that those words were not something I gave easily.

They were something I chose.

And now they’re still here, all of them, unchanged, unwatered, still carrying the same weight they always did.

Just. With nowhere left to go.

#0318

#0318

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