Razor-winged-butterfly - Mayhem

why are books so expensive all i want is to be lost in another world with haunted old houses and coffee shops and vintage aesthetics and identify with the slightly twisted, mysterious and melancholic characters whose traits i subconsciously adopt lmao

“you’re so pretty,” okay write poetry about me then.

so my friend is reading the picture of dorian gray and she texted me this😭

no exchanges for this game!

tell me your romantic situation in my asks [NOT MESSAGES] and i'll shuffle a song for you and write down a verse of the song that stands out for me.

the only thing you have to do is reblog and like this post and you have to be following me!

be kind and patient!

“Don’t walk behind me; I may not lead. Don’t walk in front of me; I may not follow. Just walk beside me and be my friends.”

— Albert Camus

All my grief says the same thing— this isn't how it's supposed to be. And the world laughs, holds my hope by my throat, says: but this is how it is.

Fortesa Latifi // The Truth About Grief

quiver lover

No one talks about the transition from being the girl everyone respected too much to come forward to and the girl that everyone desires. To feel like you are never someone's first choice, just a woman they would eventually settle for. To never be the girl they passionately, intensely ache for. To be the one they're afraid to taint. The one they will compromise with. To be the girl that becomes the mother of their child, but never their love.

And suddenly, suddenly you're the girl of their desires. The one with a free spirit and reckless behaviors and self-sabotaging actions. The one that hates herself so much, she throttles her own soul to fit an ideal image of what a man yearns for. To be savage and soft, simultaneously. To gaze at a man like a siren and never admit to being hurt.

No one talks about how you slowly feel both of these girls within you amalgamate. So achingly, so abruptly, you feel yourself spiralling out of control. You jump, face first, infront of a moving train, you wrench your heart inside of your chest. You swallow the thought of not being loved. There is a perpetual knock at the base of your mind of someone burning to come out, to be heard, to be felt, to be accepted.

You either become the trophy wife, or the girl they never wed. No one talks about girls like us.

Dear diary,

Maybe i didn't give anything to my parents to be proud of.

college students. this site is so sexy for notes btw