'i want to die' is a thought that frequents my head a lot but i really really really don't want to die i just want things to get better.
i hate talking about my feelings and whenever i do i usually joke about it and everyone thinks i’m a coldhearted bitch
yr not that attractive or interesting why the heck can’t i stop thinking about u
how do people know what love feels like? i love my mother and i love my cat. i love the curve of your cheekbone and the feel of your hands on the back of my neck. according to the diary i kept in second grade, i love Sam Oliver, the boy across the street. in ten years i might not remember your name.
our lives are as ephemeral as the mist that clung to the trees this morning. we are given neither time nor opportunity to perfect the art of love, but somehow, the words didn’t feel like a lie when they tumbled out of my mouth as we watched through my bedroom window the sun soak up the last of the mist.