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I know that I’m hard to love. Some days I’m all smiles and affection and then other days there’s nothing I want more than to be quiet and lie in bed.

Sometimes I get angry about stupid things and won’t want to talk to you. Other days I’ll think that you’re the most perfect person in the world.

Please don’t give up on me. I know it’s not easy but I’ll always come back to you.

Letters to the next (I hope you try)

trashnojutsu:

i dont trust people who are organised enough to balance a fuck ton of school stuff on top of a normal life because you know who else could do that??? fucking light yagami



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Sometimes you end up never speaking to someone who meant the world to you again. And that’s okay. You cope and you survive. Don’t let your losses keep you back from new gains.
I wish someone had told me this when I was hurting, y.g.  (via shrewdshrew)

They call me
“romantic” with
knives between
their lips, as if I am
asking for each word
to be built from the
ground from flower
beds and open
hearts.

They do not
understand
my romance.

I want to be strung
up by my ankles,
ripped open, emptied,
and told that what
I am made of is
beautiful, even as it
stains the kitchen
floor, your skin, our
conversations.

There is infinite
romance in truth.

I do not want to be
bottled, gathering
time in your shelves
until your birthday
or a bad night or
after she leaves when
you just need
something to help
you fall asleep.

In my romance,
I am not
swallowed whole.

to be the last romantic, Emma Bleker (via stolenwine)