tolivedoesntmeantobealive

[tolivedoesntmeantobealive]

[tolivedoesntmeantobealive]

2 months is all I have left then I'm gone and I will never look back. Never. I hate this place with all my heart and soul. It is nothing but torture here. I can't wait to leave. I am nothing but a burden anyways.

[tolivedoesntmeantobealive]

What are you supposed to do when you love someone way more than they love you? I am just kind of stuck. Idk how to talk to him an tell him how I feel because I'm afraid he will just leave. And I really think he might, I just feel as if im an option to him, but my God, he is my hole world. And I want to scream and cry and pull my hair out Bc I feel like I'm nothing to him. I am so afraid he isn't in love with me anymore. I'm sure he loves me, but I am so fucking afraid he isn't in love with me anymore.

[tolivedoesntmeantobealive]

Still waiting for this to work 😅

this is the money dog, repost in the next 24 hours and money will come your way!!

[tolivedoesntmeantobealive]

I cannot even put into words the way it feels to be sometimes to your always.. I need help.

[tolivedoesntmeantobealive]

I hate the way I look. I wish I could change myself. I want bigger hips, bigger butt, bigger boobs. I am so sick of looking in the mirror and feeling ugly. I just want to be confident about my body. I don't want to look like a boy.

[tolivedoesntmeantobealive]

I’m still choking on all the words you threw around before you left me.

A haiku (via imwritingpoems)

[tolivedoesntmeantobealive]

You have been visited by the Norma of Luck, reblog this and your life will get better.

[tolivedoesntmeantobealive]

[tolivedoesntmeantobealive]

I’m just a mess tbh. I never was good at loving myself, but, oh God, I seen the way that you loved me & I thought for maybe just a minute, I wasn’t so bad after all. & then you changed your mind. I don’t blame you, I was wondering how you loved me for so long any how. I was a rose, but I just had too many thorns.

[tolivedoesntmeantobealive]

Expect me to burn the popcorn every time without fail. I will hold your hand and your heart like its the most sacred thing I have and ever will touch. I can’t guarantee that I will always be kind, but I will always be kind of kind. Expect me to love you with every inch of my god dammed body. I will be your shoulder when you need me and when you don’t even think you need me. I don’t always know how to show my feelings towards people but when I do I mean it a whole fuck of a lot. Expect me to laugh at every horrible joke you tell me just because you’re cute when you tell shitty jokes. I will flawlessly probably fuck up a lot but I do it with care. I won’t guarantee you that I won’t let you down because maybe I will. Expect me to kiss you when you least expect it. Expect me to write shitty ass fucking poems about how the way I feel about you. I will be everything you need and everything you didn’t even know I could be or everything you didn’t know you even wanted. Lastly, don’t expect much.

What to expect (with me) // (m.a.b)

[tolivedoesntmeantobealive]

Black-Eyed Kids (BEKs)

If you have spent any amount of time online (especially on paranormal forums), chances are you’ve already stumbled upon at least one story about the Black-Eyed Kids, aka BEKs.

The first known mentioning of a BEK was on a paranormal e-mail list back in 1998.

Since then there have been hundreds if not thousands of reports from all over the U.S. and the world.

Now, a typical encounter with a BEK goes as such:

There is a knock on the door. Usually at some god-awful hour of the night.

When the homeowner goes to answer the door they find two children on their doorstep. These children tend to be in their early teens though there have been known sightings of BEKs much younger. In other words, these are kids that have no business being out this late at night.

Upon the homeowner opening the door, the kids immediately ask for assistance of some kind (“Can we use your phone?” “Can we use your bathroom?” etc.) But just before the owner agrees to help, they begin to get the feeling that something is amiss.

It’s then that they finally notice: the children have black eyes. SOLID black eyes.

As warning flags go up and the homeowner becomes uncomfortable, the children begin to insist on being let in. Usually around this time the homeowner shuts the door in a panic. When they finally gain the courage to open the door, the children are gone.

So who or what are these black-eyed kids?

No one really knows though there are those who believe that they may be vampires as their odd habits do seem to reflect the lore of vampires being unable to enter a house without proper invitation. 

Needless to say, BEKs are NOT something you want to find on your doorstep in the middle of the night…

[tolivedoesntmeantobealive]

Pls work

this is the money dog, repost in the next 24 hours and money will come your way!!

[tolivedoesntmeantobealive]

[tolivedoesntmeantobealive]

[tolivedoesntmeantobealive]

[tolivedoesntmeantobealive]

Picture this. Ten years from now, you’re sitting in a big house, all white picket fence and porch swings. Ten years ago you swore you’d be living in a big city with her by your side but something happened along the way and you watched as those plans disintegrated in the palms of your hands. You watch the sunrise and you watch the sunset and you wonder if she’s somewhere on the other side of the planet like she promised. “I gotta get out of here,” she said, “it doesn’t matter how I do it or where I go, I’m getting out.” Picture this. Twenty years from now, you find your first grey hair. You dutifully have that middle aged panic attack that everyone seems obliged to have and you screw up your eyes and pull it out. Your life is pretty steady now: good, calm, like you’ve finally figured things out. “I’m getting old,” you grumble. And somewhere, at the back of your mind, you wonder if she’s getting old too. Picture this. Fifty years from now your hair is like snow (if you have any, that is). Your walking stick is your new best friend and memories seem to flit in and out of your head like clouds in the sky. Most days you can’t remember what you had for breakfast or what you’ll have for tea, and some days it’s beginning to hurt to breathe. It’s on these occasions, when your chest is heavy and you have to sit down, that you remember her. You think how true it is that you don’t forget the people you loved when you were young. You may not remember yesterday’s weather but you remember the fifty year old summer breeze and complaining about her hair in your face. “I wonder if she’s happy,” you say, and people mistake it for mindless rambling. “I hope she found what she was looking for.”

S.Z. // Excerpt from a book I’ll never write #103 (via blossomfully)