#words words

[almostsomewheremaybe]

Maybe if I stare at the leaves long enough I’ll grow…

[evilmoka]

OC REDESIGN TIME

[gore-and-poets]

Fuck you Bela.

[beautitudes]

I turned to the railway lines a few metres by my window and waited until, as I knew it would eventually, a late train came. I looked into its rapidly passing, illuminated windows, and into the eyes of the few passengers, a very few of whom even saw me back, and were startled. But they were gone fast, over the conjoined sets of roofs: it was a brief crime, and not their faults. They probably did not feel guilty for long. They probably did not remember that stare. I always wanted to live where I could watch foreign trains.

The City & the City.

So I entered. So I lost. I lost it all with my eyes wide open.

Threshold.

[angryrivaini]

lamb adana with saffron rice for dinner and boston cream pie for dessert who want some

[tenderwatches]

sometimes you need dialogue tags and don't want to use the same four

[faaun]

WHEN ON PERIOD:

do not crash out

your feelings are NOT valid

do not send that text

don't kill yourself. lock in

do not act on negative emotions until at least 2 days have elapsed

[almostsomewheremaybe]

hundreds and thousands

She loves rats and crumbs in her bread. The snail with a crushed shell. Everyone deserves a chance. She adores forgotten music and old cracked paint. Grimy streets. Graffiti. Dirty words and thoughts. The hallmarks of a wasteland. She admires brutally lived-in honesty. The temerity of testified struggle. All these misfortunate motifs had somehow survived, and kept going, so what everyone else views as the decline of civilization, for her, is more proof that life is worth living. She’d prefer Pittsburgh to Paris. A lost cause she could ponder in a park. She loves London. Grey and rainy and cold and shitty and she calls that city a lady. In London, they call sprinkles hundreds and thousands. As if the sweetness and vibrancy and joy was so overwhelming it can only mean an incalculable quantity. Every rugged, slashed, out-of-commission dream that proudly faces the light of day is rainbow fantasia in her eyes. Hundreds and thousands of everyday vulgarities are trophies and medals when she tells it. The scuffed shoe in the gutter, and the dying cigarette shared by a couple in the back of a dingy bar are priceless adornments. Poetry enough. Miracles that make life and love, yes love, beautiful to her. Because a beautiful thing is first, importantly, and always real. I admire her for this. Broken things mean a lot to her. Mean everything to her.

I am just not one of them.

[gabe-time]

I think I might be aromantic lol

[catmask]

i dont consider myself a 'fashion guru' by any means but one thing i will say is guys you dont need to know the specific brand an item you like is - you need to know what the item is called. very rarely does a brand matter, but knowing that pair of pants is called 'cargo' vs 'boot cut' or the names of dress styles is going to help you find clothes you like WAAAYYYY faster than brand shopping

[the-silly-words-on-your-screen]

As an alternative to 'sugar, spice, and everything nice'

I present: 'salt, vinegar, and everything sinister'

[lennyjamin]

spoke deeply to me.

[1-jar-of-stars]

On Friendship.

[big-tiddy-goth-ghoulfriend]

canceled my prime membership today

[sycamorality]

💯 but its 000 for when something's fuckall