Discover Top Posts Tagged with #three weeks ago

St Peter's Square, Manchester.

#Oasis #shit #three weeks ago #before the #Oasisification #of #Manchester #wasn't even a megastore outside the library then #tour dates #The Divorce Tour #John Cleese style #dynamic pricing

heyyy i just saw your doodle request post!! idk if you ship jotakak but i'd love to see a doodle of those two ;; or whatever you want really!

This is the second time I’ve drawn a jojo and their jobro with a ds and it probably won’t be the last

#thanks for the request!!!!!! i do ship jotakak but their dynamic to me is literally just one dude really into games and art one dude really #into marine biology they hold hands on occasion and are gay but you’d never be able to tell because most of the time they act like friends #close enough to trade insulting jokes but they ARE indeed gay #and with that i eep #i still have like a million request to finish i need to sit down down and actually do them cause school’s started up already like two or #three weeks ago #uwhaowhwhaiwhdhxodhwhrjcghdjwhdchwid #jjba #noriaki kakyoin #jotaro kujo #stardust crusaders #jotakak #<— if you squint!!!!#my art !! :]#asks !! :]

#sm #cookin for myself #not my kitchen #pan oats #three weeks ago

#dont got art just came here to vent #or ramble.... rant idk #i just came to realize i had to handle this one part of my assignment like #three weeks ago #maya got me like #😭#all day #btich i dont knwo how to make uvs #🤧🤧🤧🤧#i actually do know how but i caNT I CANT #sewing??? cut??????????????????????#normal map?????????????????????????? who is sheeee #bye #a bean talks #sorta

I like to think that I know love, its roots curled deep in my bones.

I love my friends, I think. I met my first friend in the stroller, both of us only months old. She is still one of my closest friends, today. We still speak the same words at the same time, two fish schooling in an old pool.

I’ve known most of my friends for years upon years, despite only having concluded my teenage days. One friend was the sunlight shining through murky waters; another was drowning with me, the two of us clutching at each other like lifelines and dragging each other up to the surface. So many of them have held me while I shook and cried.

I’m not quite sure when, but I’ve stopped telling my friends I love them. Maybe it was when for the third time, a boy mistook my affection for attraction. I remember what they like, and they think it means I like them. I used to think it means they need better friends, but maybe I know better, now. It was a surprise at first, but now I know that not everyone is used to a year of deep conversations, of shared meals, of regular texts, of concern and hugs. I am lucky, I think, to be so loved.

Maybe I have a warped sense of time, the privilege of the stability in my life. A year is almost nothing to me, a blink, the pitter-patter of rain on the sea, a blooming and shrivelling blossom.

We are all just sunflowers, turning towards the sun.

I met up with a friend the other day; I haven’t seen him in a year. We sit down in a restaurant and I think love is when he jokes about my pretend-I-am-a-nice-girl voice that I was using with everyone else around us. I catch him up on what I’ve been reading, a book about two wandering monsters who find themselves in each other. They paste on sunny smiles for other people, too.

Love is humming an old pop song, hoarse and deep from your chests. Love is a jar of dried roses, thrown onstage fresh by multiple familiar hands, then carefully preserved. Love is watching a movie you weren’t originally interested in, just because they are. Love is post-it notes stuck to your wall, signed and dated with little hearts. Love is swimming together under the sun, knowing that your skin will peel.

Love is tiredly napping on the bus, heads knocking together painfully. Love is sharp words and exasperated patience, knowing that both of you should break up with your partners but that you won’t. Love is knowing all the fucked up shit you’ve thought and said and done that no one else knows. Love is speechless, frustrated tears as you hold each other through it all. Love is clutching on too loose but too tight, palms rubbed raw, so that a year apart doesn’t unravel you.

The people I love get the darkest parts of me, ocean-bottom-deep, and sometimes I wonder if that is still love.

And maybe I am too young, after all. Maybe I just like the wet-soil feeling of taking care of other people, the sun-soaked feeling of being taken care of. Maybe there is something that I’m missing, a sparkling feeling of brightness that makes you jump to put the other person before yourself, to shield them from everything including yourself. I never did.

How much of love is knowing. How much of love is sharing. How much of love is feeling.

Maybe it was never love at all.