beaboniim

[beaboniim]

So um, actually, if you lay your head against my ribs and listened to my heart, it’d beat and whisper every kind word you’ve ever said, hope this helps!!

[beaboniim]

Like a cat sits by the window to feel the sun's warmth.

I love you, I love you.

[beaboniim]

Please don't taint my creativity with your expectations

[beaboniim]

I think my biggest fear is my mother looking at me and seeing my father.

[beaboniim]

for love

for love.

[beaboniim]

I lay in a way my mother considered odd. A pillow slipped in between my thighs--my knees peeking over the other sides in which the almost touched but never would. For comfort, I would always reason. Never liking how my bones melded against each other as I lay. But that was just it, wasn't it? I never much liked how I felt under my own hands. Never liked how my body squished and melded and dented. I can account an incident or two where I had thought I was almost pretty--almost. Like how the moon can almost touch the sun. Or how the shore can almost swallow the beach. Almost, but never quite. Possible, theoretically, but nearly always impossible.

[beaboniim]

my fatal flaw is that I'd agree with every mean thing that has ever been said about me. even if it was wrong.

[beaboniim]

the love i have in me is too much for my heart to hold. (that is why my chest aches when i look at you)

[beaboniim]

I’d follow you to the ends of the earth. That is to say; i’d follow you forever, endlessly, aimlessly. until time itself stops.

[beaboniim]

love is torture. not in the sense of physical pain, no. but in the sense that no matter how many words spill from my mouth, no matter how i look at you. none of it would be enough. you will never know how much i yearn for you. it is torture to love you, to love in a way the poets do. and it is torture, for you to have no clue how much you kill me in all the best ways.

[beaboniim]

"i can't remember what it's like to feel loved by my mother, i can't remember the last time she's called my name without it sounding like a chore"

[beaboniim]

hozier, borzois, pottery, snow, forests, art, crying, friendship, love, romance.

[beaboniim]

pinky promises are so innocent. interlocking pinkies to keep a secret no one but the flowers know, promises to fall in love with every life we live, every time our hearts beat. Promising to become the best versions of ourselves and sealed with the hold of a pinky. Promising to live until we can't anymore, to feel every little thing until we break. Promising to breathe and live what we most love. Promising to stay kids forever.

promising to never break a pinky promise.