I want to be human
I want to be unashamedly myself. I want to be messy. With large sweaters and a mug of tea. Headphones playing a true crime podcast. Pen ink staining my finger tips and journal in hand. Moth-man stickers on my water bottle. With grass stains on my pants and flowers in my hair.
Do you guys cleanse your face once or twice a day?
I read books when I needed a break from reality and I’m not sure when these breaks slowly become the beginning of my obsession with the concept of escapism. The mere fact that I’d rather live a thousand different lives and meet a thousand different people and live through a thousand different scenarios- to feel the pain and grief and anger and love of fictional characters simply because I can’t handle the idea that I too ,am supposed to face these feelings in the mundane world I live in . It’s suffocating. It’s something I can’t comprehend. I’m never fully present- half my mind and all my heart lay grotesquely in between the pages of my books
Personally I do it once
Midnights was a perfect album for all our thoughts that we have at midnight, which aren't very perfect, smooth or poetic to the core or storytelling kind but rather organic, about yearning, melancholia, sadness, depression, sorrow, grief revenge, thoughts that keep us wide awake at night, wondering about what ifs, should've or could've beens and karma and dreams and stars and rain and midnight melodies and musings and ramblings and starry purple, black and dark blue skies and advises from older self to younger self and all your deepest darkest fears and feelings and secrets and heartbreaking moments and missing people we lost and self reflection and loathing and romance and being in love and in lavender haze and being out of love and self love self hatred and betrayal and independence and being stuck in a spiral and in a labyrinth of our thoughts and midnight conversations and creative ideas that pop in our minds at midnight and the secret meetups and tragic endings.
life would be so different if i was a bookshop owner in a small village near some forest, who has a secret affair with the local poet
Existe várias formas de matar alguém e a pior dela é esquecendo-a. Esquecer do qual incrível e especial aquela pessoa é, do quando divertida e inspiradora, e do quão bom foi amar ela.
I’ve been trying to make more room for you inside of myself lately, not because the nights are longer without the comforting rhythm of you breathing next to me, not because I know I can close the gap between who I’m not and who I know I can be with a brush your fingers, but I know one day you’ll wake up and the war inside of your head will be over. I learned how to swallow screams too early in life and now they sit at the back of my throat waiting for a name quieter than winter, but my words have loved you since forever, and every time you touch them I know it's you. I don’t know how to fit all my love for you in to this lifetime, but I’m going to do everything I can to try.
carry me in your heart. I want to be where you need me most when I’m too far for your arms to reach.
ultraviolence era !!!
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you know i think about people sometimes, like if they listen to the same music as me, how they have their coffee, do they like this movie my friend is taking about all the time and if they like butter on their toast, if they eat chocolate late at night in the dark. i think about whether they’re afraid of the same things as i am and whether they cry like me at every little inconvenience, whether they’re chasing dreams everyday, whether they like edgar allan poe or not, whether they miss someone, if they prefer dogs over cats, whether they like to read, i think about the scars they have on their bodies and the light that shines bright in their eyes. i think about whether they wear socks to bed or if they sneak out of their house at midnight. so if you ever wonder that nobody thinks about you then maybe you're wrong, because i do.
from the dress i wore at midnight leave it all behind