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A big part of who I am, If not my wholeness, Is who I am not. I am the words I left unspoken, The hugs I didn’t give, The confessions I didn’t make, The questions I didn’t respond to, The love I didn’t have the chance to give.
GUYS MY SHIT FINISHED BEING FIRED (AGAIN) LOOK LOOOOOOK
Final project and my centipede mug :DDD
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Palatable by Ariee
the mauraders didn't make severus bleed. they did worse than that.
A lot of writers don’t stop because they lack ideas, they stop because the process starts to feel overwhelming.
Too many thoughts, not enough structure, and suddenly it’s hard to move forward.
But writing doesn’t have to be perfect to be meaningful. It just has to continue.
What usually slows you down the most when you’re writing?
If to love is to recognize,
then I don't love you anymore.
I turn the knob before you ring the bell,
but you're just a stranger at my door.
You are a whitewashed childhood room,
with the neon stars peeking through,
the plaster;
just a shadow of what once used to be whole.
And we promised we'd grow up together,
but all we've done is grow apart.
And I'm still stuck in November ,
while you've gone off to the next year.
I'm stumbling through December,
while you're conquering your fears.
If to love is to be familiar,
then I don't love you anymore.
You're just bruises where your fingers touched,
and mended,
and tore.
wild clay