Morning coffee feels like I'm an infant sucking on Mother Nature's tit as my only source of life.
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Being my mother's daughter is like "I love you despite you tell me I'll never be a good mother. I love you despite you telling me you won't mourn me a day if I killed myself. I love you despite you saying I've already ruined my life. I love you even though you never stopped mocking me for my height. I love you even though my arms have wounds your words created. I love you even though you make me cry on my birthdays. I love you even though
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At least once a month this people eater(beloved) trends on tumblr and I can feel the stars align.
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Knocking on my forehead and yelling at my brain, "ma'am can you please turn it down!"
:(
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This morning, the fruit basket was filled with tangerines and I wanted to write a letter to my lover. He lives in the future, a distance I can never cross.
I wanted to ask him,
"is the winter being kind to you, darling?
If I could trace my fingers along the outlines of your face, you could still smell the tangerine I peeled.
If I could kiss your fingertips, and smell the scent of your shirt collar, I would have done enough for one life.
If I could I would put on your sweater you left on the sofa and read the newspaper you left on the coffee table.
I hope you don't catch a cold this winter"
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To quote my marvellous bestie: I'm having breathing difficulties-
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One minute you're sitting on the floor complaining to the omnipotent almighty in the sky and the next minute you make some toast or something.
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