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        "You weren't being exactly polite          either. Why should you expect          people to be kind when you aren't?"

            ❝how r u d e of you.❞

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        "For as long as I can remember,          yeah. Even when I was little I always          had a coloring book and crayons on          hand. How about you? What do you          do?"

    “And yours is painting. Have   you always been into art?

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        "Wha- oh. Star Wars was never really          my thing. My Dad liked The Empire          Strikes Back, though? I've always been          more into Star Trek if anything. Sorry."                 It's said with a little shrug as brows furrow                 just a tiny bit at the abrupt question. Star                 Wars had just never really gotten her attention.                 Her Dad had loved it, though, so. Olivia would                 rather watch some classic Trek any day.

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For The Widows In Paradise, For The Fatherless In Ypsilanti | Sufjan Stevens

Even if I come back, even if I die Is there some idea, to replace my life?

Like a father to impress Like a mother’s mourning dress If we ever make a mess  I’ll do anything for you

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        "Oh, god. That's...okay. You can          stay here as long as you need, alright?          I'm sure my aunt and uncle won't          mind, and I don't."                 Not a squatter, then. Just a kid in a                 bad situation. She can't blame him for                 hiding in the empty house is his mother                 had hit him. She'd surely hide, too. It                 seemed like the crying had mostly stopped                 so she rose from the seat she'd taken                 beside the stranger and gave a soft smile.         "Do you want anything to drink? Water?          I went sort of nuts and bought a ton of          things of juice, if you want some of that?"

     ”Actually, I’m the neighbor. My mom lives          next door, but we don’t really get along, if you          know what I mean. She gets a little testy, and          let me tell you, her skinny little hands can really          hurt if she’s mad enough at you for somethin’.”

                 Tate reaches up to rub at his cheek as if he’s                   remembering being hit by her. It’s manipulative.                   He wants her to feel sorry for him— to continue                   talking to him while she stays here. He gets so                   lonely, and he finds that if people feel bad for                   you, they’re generally nicer to you. Especially                   if you’re just in their family’s house for no real                   reason. He’s been doing this for y  e  a  r  s.

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        "I noticed, thank you. Just          chose not to respond."

            ❝s a r c a s m, cutie.               learn it, live it, love it.❞

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Lydia Martin + hair up

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        "It just seemed pretty          interesting. No, not really."

            ❝you’re just a ball of               facts, aren’t you? bet               you’re a party goers’               favorite.❞

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        "But it is. The history of red          pigment as a whole is really          interesting."

            ❝mmmhm— yeah, real interesting.❞

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        "I don't disagree."

          ’ life is basically anything but a box of fuckin’ chocolate. ‘

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        "That doesn't really make it          okay to snap at someone who's          just trying to get you your food          and then not tipping because of          'poor service'."

"To be fair, sometimes the people are just—I think the word is hangry? When you’re hungry and angry at the same time? As a sufferer of hangriness, it’s never really about waitress."

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        "A bit. I'm not usually this whiny,          I promise. People are just so rude          to waitresses for no good reason,          and I'm sick and tired of it."

"Took a real stretch to get to that word, eh?"

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I’m an adult, but not like a real adult

anyone between the ages of 18 and 25 (via innocentdelirium)

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        "Well. Hi, Tate. I'm Olivia.          If you're squatting here or          something you can stay          'till they get back? As long          as you promise not to steal          anything."                 Maybe it was too generous an offer,                 maybe a little too trusting, but Olivia                 didn't really have the heart to throw                 someone out onto the street. Anyways,                 Tate seemed...nice enough. Sort of                 odd, with the way he was looking at his                 reflection. Sort of hurt and sad and broken                 and she couldn't force him out. If he was                 a squatter, that is.

    “I’m Tate.”

               The boy doesn’t offer up information on why                  he’s here or why he’s crying about his only                 love in the upstairs bedroom. He would lie                 when asked to give information, but he liked                 to keep things simple. If she didn’t ask, he                   didn’t have to tell. He rubbed at his eyes and                 pushed himself up from the spot on the bed,                 crossing the room to poke at his face in the                 mirror. The good thing about being a ghost                 instead of a vampire was that pesky thing                 about reflections— a ghost could be seen                  in a mirror if he so c h o s e to be.

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A Girl, a Boy, and a Graveyard » Jeremy Messersmith

and i feel like i'm some kind of frankenstein waiting for a shock to bring me back to life but i don't want to spend my time waiting for lightning to strike.

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party girls don’t get hurt can’t feel anything, when will i  l e a r n ?