The Worst About It Is That I’m Proud

I just wanted you to know that this is me trying.

folklore- taylor swift （ album moodboard ）

evermore as an old storybook

@taylorswift @taylornation ♡

part 1 | part 2 | twitter

[please credit me if you repost]

— We will always love more that which is forbidden.

Fiction doesn’t exist to provide us with comprehensive instructions to navigate life. It exists to provide us with the perspective, questions, critical consideration, exploration, beauty, and escape we need to figure it out for ourselves.

something that truly saddens me is that there are planets and stars that could live out their entire existence without any acknowledgement. entire solar systems could be born and destroyed without anyone to witness. it saddens me because it shows how truly lonely the universe is. the universe has been alive for longer than any human being can observe for and its existence had been neglected for centuries. i can only imagine the history that the universe has seen that we would never be able to know of. i can only imagine what the universe went through all on its own without anyone to watch. and it makes me wonder if this will be our story too. so far, we have no evidence or proof of any life. so, what if we die out? what if we slowly go extinct? there wouldnt be any one to support us or to even realize or understand our disappearance. they could be too late and only get to see the remains of what once was. would they question those remains? or would they assume that they were what always was? that those remains were the only things this planet has seen? similar to how we, now, look at the remains of what might have once been with no idea that we were too late. we may not question those remains and mistake them for the natural state of a planet or a star. it really is sad that the universe lives on its own, almost completely empty of life. and that with all of our attempts, we could/would always be too late to let some parts of the universe know that they’re not alone.

i just want to be one of those cute, aesthetically pleasing readers who’ve got their cardigans on and sip on their tea while reading by the fireplace but i always end up looking like a hot mess with my big stained hoodie, tied-up hair and dried up tears, trying to find good lighting at 3am so i can make out what i’m reading

I am not meant for this world. I belong in a thick magical forest, filled with woodland elves, fairy rings, old oaks, werewolves howling at the moon, faeries dancing under waterfalls, and unicorns hidden away- only seen by nymphs. I want to live in a cottage surrounded by falling petals. I want fauns to play their flutes from willow trees. I want to hear the sound of dragons roaring through the sky. I want to make a garden for myself, and make a welcome sign to all the woodland creatures to my cottage of love and magic. I just want to live in a fairy tale and leave this world forever.

As an only child, maybe I’m the only one who feels this way. But, in my opinion we pick our closest friends to substitute for brothers and sisters, and though we love spending time with them, we’re perfectly comfortable being alone when things get too hectic. In fact, that’s where we thrive when it comes to creativity and thinking. 

okay but if we, as a society, normalised writing poetry on the walls, wandering through old forests, having massive secret home libraries filled with books we've collected over the years, wearing medieval dresses and lying on the cool grass in a countryside on summer evenings.. daydreaming instead of worrying about chores and silly responsibilities; the world would've been a better place.

It really drives me insane that I don’t know how people feel about me. Like am I nice??? Am I funny???? Am I mean???? Am I rude??? Am I obnoxious??? Am I dumb???? What am I????????????????????