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*accidentaly vents to friend* great now i can never speak to them again
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A love like that was a serious illness, an illness from which you never entirely recover.
Charles Bukowski, The People Look Like Flowers at Last (via feellng)
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My idea of a perfect morning is waking up next to you.
Uptional (via kaliforned)
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They won’t understand until you leave. The minute you walk away you’ll become ‘the best they’ve ever had.’ It’s crazy how loss triggers love.
(via br0ken-and-lost)
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