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they posted a full version lol it’s mr Stacy’s dad for me

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“Do you think it’s possible that some people are born to give more love than they will ever get back in return?”

— Tyler Knott Gregson

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I'm going on vacation this weekend. With my grandparents sister and nephew. Tumblr is basically the only thing I look at my phone for entertainment

Opening Tumblr in public is a terrible mistake guys don't do it

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“I can’t change where I come from or what I’ve been through, so why should I be ashamed of what makes me, me?”

— Angie Thomas, The Hate U Give

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Congratulations to Brooke from Let's Not Date for winning Father's Day.

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“Until you get comfortable with being alone, you’ll never know if you are choosing someone out of love or loneliness.”

— Mandy Hale

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No.

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Some children are born already bracing. Already flinching. Raised in rooms where rage was the only weather, they learn to love in the language of shields and sharpness, always preparing for the next storm, never quite believing the sun when it shows its teeth. You grow up thinking survival is the same as love. You wrap your small hands around someone else’s grief and call it devotion. You mistake fear for closeness, mistake chaos for warmth, mistake violence for presence. By the time you’ve grown, the wounds are old gods, silent, furious, always watching. You move through the world half-feral, searching for something that doesn't just touch your skin but slides its fingers through your ribs and knows you from the inside. The softness of love confuses you. You don’t know what to do with hands that don’t demand blood.

You meet people who love you gently, and all you can do is ache. All you can do is bleed on their kindness and ask them not to look away. You meet the ones who worship you, who place you on altars made of their own bones, and you rot there. You meet the ones who burn for you, who tear the sky apart trying to get to you, and still, it is not enough. Because how do you explain to someone that you are already full of ghosts? That your love has claws? That you cannot give without offering up the parts of yourself still soaked in old screams? Some nights, you stare at the ceiling and think maybe this is all there is. An endless push and pull. A war with no winner. You keep wanting more and more and more, and nothing fills you. Not the way they kiss you. Not the way they say your name like prayer. Not even the silence after sex where you pretend you belong. You lie in beds and wonder if your mother’s grief lives under your tongue. You laugh and wonder if your father’s hands shaped your heart into a weapon. You wonder if love was something you were never meant to hold gently.

The world becomes a mirror you want to smash. Hills and trees and rivers that whisper the same question. is this all? Is this all there is? You walk through forests that feel like memory, touch flowers that feel like apologies. Every path winds back to the beginning. Every god you pray to is just another version of your loneliness. You chant until your throat is raw. You beg the sky to split open. You ask the earth to swallow you whole if it can’t offer you meaning. Still, the world turns. Still, you wake. And you, you love like a wound. You love like you are trying to crawl inside someone’s chest and live there. You love like it’s the last thing tethering you to this cruel, luminous earth. You want their blood in your mouth, their thoughts in your spine. You want a love that floods you, drowns you, leaves you gasping on the shore of yourself. You want someone to stand at the altar of your ache and say, “Yes. I still choose you", only to end up not believing them. Because how can anyone stay when you don't know how to stay with yourself?

So you keep leaving, even as you beg to be found. You destroy everything that looks like safety. You say cruel things in soft rooms. You become too much, too fast, too loud. You carry every past version of yourself in your mouth like broken teeth. And still, still you want love. Still you keep searching. You roam and roam and roam. Across cities you only see in dreams. Through buildings that collapse when you blink. You search for holy things in other people’s mouths. You drag your childhood like a body behind you. And you keep whispering to the void, please let this mean something. And the cruel void keeps whispering back, make it mean something.

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Hamster Escapes the Most Dangerous Prison Maze 🐹

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“When you stop talking to people, stop talking about them too.”

— Unknown

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Is there an adult size one?

Via: IG@atynerantiques

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She's got the right attitude here

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