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But now I look back, and remember: Summer tasted like you

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“And I’m trying to learn brave doesn’t always mean building walls and burning people with fire as protection. I’m trying to learn the kind of brave you taught me - pulling down the gates, letting go of control…”

— Sade Andria Zabala, You Make Me Feel Human

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possession horror where the thing possessing the autistic character causes them to behave in a more neurotypical way. autistic possession horror where the thing inside you is easier to communicate with than you are, the thing inside you doesn’t have a flat affect, the thing inside you doesn’t let your body stim, the thing inside you is how you were told to behave and you can only do it when you are no longer you. autistic possession horror where you will never forget that everyone liked it better than you before they found out something was controlling you. autistic possession horror where they know what’s inside you isn’t you and debate whether it would be easier for everyone to leave you like this anyway. you agree. reblog.

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But if I love with the hand that instinctively grabs theirs, the arms that caringly hold, and the heart that pulls them towards itself; is that not also the soul of love? To distance oneself is also to rip part of their soul off, to leave it with the ones they leave behind

“Goodbyes are only for those who love with their eyes. Because for those who love with heart and soul there is no such thing as separation.”

— Rumi

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It would be tomorrow soon

"Where are we going?", she asked. He did not answer, but smiled at her, keeping his secret. His eyes went back to the road, and a little above that. The mountainous terrain moved under them, their car a timeless capsule in which they were trapped. She questioned him for a second in her heart, but decided to trust him. He had always chosen the best spots for holidays. As the sun's last light shone upon her face, her worries started to fade away, and her eyelids started to fall closed. It would be tomorrow soon.

"Come on, it's time for bed", his mother laughed. Seeing the colors on the tree, he could not contain his enthusiasm. He tried to hide under a blanket, so he could look at it for just a little longer, but one look from his mother made him realize that she was dead serious. As he was tucked in, she sang him to sleep. Soon, the warmth of his blanket shut out the cold of the snow. It would be tomorrow soon.

Somewhere in a city that was a little too big, a man drank himself to sleep. It had only been five days since he had seen his daughter, but the loneliness had gotten to him. Still, even the thought of that little ball of joy relieved him from his solitude. He looked forward to seeing those big, blue eyes that questioned everything. It would be tomorrow soon.

He arranged the flowers in a manner that she liked. After all, he would see her again tomorrow. Spring was fully awake, and the roses from his garden bloomed like never before. He was old now, and in his age, he had found all the secrets to growing the most diverse and stunning flowers. Still, his wife liked red roses best. He had given in, and his garden bled as his heart did. It had been two years now, but still her presence lingered just around the next corner. It would be tomorrow soon.

She was just a girl. The way the lights lit the room reminded her of the summer she spent in Switzerland; he had also been from Switzerland, he who had ra- we don't think about that. Her friend's laughter had not quite died down yet, but the loneliness was stifling. It wasn't a good idea to call him already; what if he found out how dependent she was on him? The knife cut cleanly, and the pain brought some relief. She put some louder and more chaotic music on, and laid in bed for a while. It would be tomorrow soon.

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As I lay here,

Dark and festering;

They might yet find me,

But they wouldn't know;

I needed you.

Then you might come,

And visit me;

(for I was declared ill)

And your look upon my face

Would have me rise.

Those eyes, shining bright;

Looking;

Deep into my soul,

I cannot fathom you;

But here you are.

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Honestly, yes, I feel you, but also: hey, I feel; nice

i hate that kind of sadness where your chest physically hurts

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Like that dude who said "I'm sorry if this seems selfish, when I have been selfless all my life and it has left me with nothing

„Suicide is selfish“ let me be selfish for once in my life.

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In today's episode of imaginary sibling conversations:

A: hey, could I use your charger for a minute?

B: ask it nicely

A: I did, though

B: yeah but you didn't use the P-word

A: what P-word?

B: you know the word I mean. Use it in your sentence man

A: I don't know what you are talking about

B: use please!!

A: alright alright, since you ask so nicely: could I perhaps borrow your charger for a minute?

*lineage-ending fight ensues*

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I just pulled a hand-it-in-at-4AM, and for some reason chose to name my paper "IfYouReadThisGiveMeAnA" and thought it would work... I hope this nightly, stupid me is not reflected in the masterpiece of a paper I wrote in a matter of hours after procrastinating until 12AM lol

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Amount of heartbreaks rising into the double digits

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And his name is Greg. It needs to be. This is a Greg.

I made a digital cat.

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This is the kind of crossover I need in my life. Also, reading that book will never be the same. Thank you so much

i can’t read about shigeru and NOT imagine him as uncle iroh. even shigeru’s cherry insignia feels very iroh-inspired

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