The worst about it is that I’m proud
Why is nobody talking about Chole or Sam or Sophia or Marcus? Like why ? That song is so good. Like wishing the other person happiness and at the same time wanting a closer like just tell me that you loved me and it's going to be fine(my mental peace), I don't want to hate you, I just wanted to hear that you loved me once and I know it didn't workout between us but I still want to know what you will be up to in your life later, let me be a part of it (like maybe exes on good terms) even if you and I both have someone in our lives.
saw this trend on twitter and I HAD to join ✨
so we could call it even you could call be babe for the weekend tis the damn season write this down staying at my parents’ house and the road not taken looks real good now time flies messy as the mud in your truck tires now i’m missing your smile hear me out we could just ride around and the road not taken looks real good now and it always leads to you in my hometown
Nostalgia is purely manufactured because we force teenagers to experience things before they're ready and we tell adults life ends at 25 so they can try to desperately reclaim their teenage years. It's okay to transition out of each phase when you're ready. The milestones for adulthood are not universal or even required
“…and I suppose that the reason I hated him was because when someone you love leaves you, you have to hate them to get over them. Because if they don’t want you anymore and you still love them, how do you survive?”
"Dark academic?" More like "someone please help me holy shit I can't continue living like this and the only thing keeping me from falling off my rocker is literature."
@networkthirteen and @tscreators Eight Days of evermore, event June 13th: Favotite Lyrics
“I can say with certainty that it all started on June 2, 2003. I woke up that day from a very vivid dream. In my dream, two people were having an intense conversation in a meadow in the woods.” - Stephenie Meyer
20 years of Twilight 🩸
Homenagem Fúnebre
É muita soberba nossa acreditar nessa realidade como a única e possível, e se ainda dúvida, pois bem, perceba: nossa alma, presa a essa carne de potência e ações limitadas, todas as noites viaja entre visões extraordinárias, que esse mundo, o qual chamamos de verdadeiro, nunca poderia nos presentear como experiência, é como uma promessa do que ainda não é e nem está, mas virá. Pelo dia passeamos entre pensamentos, ideias e o sonho dos acordados, aquele que nos tortura com idealizações e expectativas lindas, extravagantes, simples e mesquinhas desse mundo doloroso; e dói, apenas para provar como humanos e medíocres existimos aqui.
Nada nunca vai fazer-me desacreditar que a morte é tão somente outro nome para tratar a vida, por bem ou mal, um outro tipo de existência, mas com certeza, vida! Seremos livres depois dessa passagem? Assim eu espero: sendo uma singular e insignificante, causa e resultado de uma bela lúgubre implosão no universo, que o fim da minha existência seja um singelo feixe de luz dissipando na escuridão; e se tiver vazio, que eu preencha o nada então. Rogo em desespero, para nunca ser o miserável destinado a uma só e dura realidade, aquele imortalizado.