#precisely this

[seraphdreams]

“so what does eren look like in your head?”

me:

[slavicafire]

I agree re: houses. A house takes on the life that’s lived in it - we consume food (animal and plant life) that contributes to our life - a house has people in its stomach, the more lives a house digests the more it lives. This is why old houses are haunted (& I don’t always mean malevolent when I say haunted). But New houses, they are bodies with no life in them yet - how desperately they must desire a heartbeat, something warm in their stomachs. How quickly they would digest

oh goodness, my heart manifested into words out of someone else's mouth... thank you

[nighttimepixels]

as another posessor of thunder thighs may i also raise you: PREMIUM Thigh Pillows For All Your (Skeleton Girlfriend’s) Thigh Pillow Needs tm

Whether your thighs can crush watermelons or are the  softest squish this side of the moon, they are Thigh Pillow Material and that’s what COUNTS

[otatma]

[bagel-with-creamcheese]

The more I learn about him the more I think, maybe Kafka was right, maybe he was right about everything, maybe we are living the same life, maybe all of us are.

[alektheloris]

I'm such a fucking idiot for getting excited about tonight lol....

[lelia-valois]

 Love, for me, is caring for another so completely that that person is as important to you as yourself, so that you suffer when that person suffers, you know joy when that person knows joy, and you cannot separate your own fate from that person's fate without considerable angst and misery. That is love. And yes, I have known it --- for my mother, for my beloved Nicholas and for Louis, and for Claudia, and for Armand and for others. Love is rooted in understanding, deep emotional and physical attraction, and in common sympathy. And once you love some one like that, well, you have given a hostage to fate. I find it impossible to live without loving. I find it excruciating to feel that I am utterly unloved. I thrive on loving and on being loved. I cannot contemplate living for any length of time without the hope of love, without hoping to experience love in my daily existence, and without the hope of knowing love in the future. In my worst trials, the memory of having been loved, and of loving has sustained me. Part of the agony of loving can be discovering that you have been cruel to the one you love, that you have cheated that person, that you have rejected the loved one when you did not mean to do it at all, that you have failed the person utterly. I have experienced all this; the fault was in me; not in loving. I have loved imperfectly, but I'm learning to love in new and better ways all the time.