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I'm either thinking too much or expecting too much. No one is right or wrong. I'm just tired of being one of the unreliable people. Or with such people. I don't know
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I had a friend. A girl with red hair and a laugh that thundered in the room she was walking through. She was my opposite - bright, funny, colourful. Opposites attract, they say. I thought they were right. Until she started lying to me so often that she got caught up in her lies completely.
I had a friend. A guy with brown hair and the kindest heart in the world. He was so nice and sweet, that I didn't understand how such a person could even exist. He proved to me that I'm not selfish, that I just shut the world out because of internal fears. He warmed my cold blood. And he was always there for me. Until he stopped loving me and found a girlfriend.
I had a friend. A girl with dark hair and the most understanding outlook. I'd known her for 8 years. She'd never criticized me. Always listened to all my silly stories and problems. She always was around, even though I had never seen her in real life, only in the phone screen. I thought she was my best friend. And that she would listen to me too if I told the truth about her toxic relationship. But she didn't understand me. And we don't keep in touch anymore.
People appear in our life for a reason. And when we lose them, we find ourselves, understand what we lacked or what we want from communication in general. But if I could, I would bring back those who meant so much to me. Those who stay forever in my stupid heart. Those whom I remember with a sad smile on my face.
My best ex-friends.
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iamhalsey: I walked PFW for the first time today with @pressiat_ and it was terrifying and amazing!!!! Thank you Vincent for having me, and congratulations to you and team on such a stunning collection and iconic show!
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whatever was left, that was ours for a while.
sunrise - louise glück
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I should love my family. I should appreciate the chance to go home after the semester. I should be a happy daughter who's glad to spend time with her parents.
So why do I find myself so frustrated and lost sitting on a plane and looking at the city down below? What if my own family no longer feels like home to me? What's wrong with them?
What's wrong with me?
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Yo, Enid! You're not gonna believe the dirt I heard about your new girlfriend. She eats human flesh. Totally chowed down on that kid she murdered. You better watch your back. Quite the contrary.
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please be nice to me, i'm in my twenties. do you know what that does to a person
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— pure love
The most marvelous feeling is to wake up in the morning lights, look at her and embrace her from the back, dipping in the warmth of her stretching body and then, among all the mess of blankets, take her hand in my own, smiling at the way her fingers intertwine with mine. She's sleeping, but on a vague subconscious level she knows that this is my hand and she take it for herself, forcing me to hug her tighter. Thus, she doesn't give me a choice: I fall asleep again, but this time we breathe the same rhythm.
At such moments, I feel pure love. She sparkles bengal fires in me. And, before falling asleep, I realize that not only does this feeling stay with me until the alarm sounds, but all the time while she is by my side.

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My therapist once told me, “You are the guiltiest feeling person I’ve ever met” and just to prove her right, I took it to heart. An astrologer said, “You have so much water in your chart. What is it like to feel the emotions of every single person alive, everyday?” and I wept because I sensed he was displeased. A teacher told my parents “She’s very sensitive. Far more than the other kids in her class.” I took my SATs at 9 years old, but they encouraged my mother to hold me back because of how my eyes glistened when I heard the word no. She told them to go to hell. So I cried my way through my education until high school when they said “You take everything so personally, you’ll never survive in a company environment. You wouldn’t make a good employee.” So I employed myself (out of spite or…necessity) and then later, I hired 200 people. A boyfriend told me “Don’t be so dramatic, everything isn’t a movie.” Fine, so it’ll be an album then. The doctor said “This shouldn’t hurt a bit.” I tread daily on a minefield that leaves me classifying the variations in footsteps, the tonality in voice, a change in breath. “Is everything okay? You seem mad” is my pledge of allegiance to this tightly wound bundle of flesh. I am cut open, butterflied and flayed, with every single nerve exposed like live wires and, yes, they all hurt to touch. Each interaction is a litmus test of how well liked I am, and therefore how worthy to live. I wake up every morning and the moral barometer resets, T-minus 12 hours to prove to myself that I am not the bad person I believe I must be. Sleep, repeat. An amnesiac nightmare. Prometheus on a rock and the gull in my guts is myself. I once envied those with greater armor, but not anymore. “Why do you care so much?” Guard yourself from the little grievances, but the shield does not differentiate. The space where I am vulnerable to the pain that passes through is an entry point for the microscopic good that others may miss. I live in technicolor torment. If I could do it over again and choose the comfortable grey, I would seize a knife and cut the little keyholes back into my every limb. So the light can get in.
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