Laf is practicing his murder skills
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First impression of you: Ngl, at first I was a little worried you were a troll or something because I didn't notice you interacting with my posts until you participated in an ask game (probably just me being oblivious). Also for some reason I thought you were a dude at first??? I don't know XD
Current impression of you: Fun person! Friend! Interacts with me! Putting stuff on my feed that I don't know about! But also stuff from fandoms most of my other mutuals aren't into, like Trigun and TMNT! Yay!
Awww, you're too kind, friend! I'm glad I can help make your dash a little more lively! ^3^
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anon is right you're one of the coolest ppl on here and they must truly be awful if they're bothering an old lady i hope you whack it out of them with your walking stick
I got my stick ready to chase u down n beat ya ass smh
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When does it end when do people just stop leaving and stay for once.
I am so tired of change i just want consistency. I want people who would choose me .
I feel like i owe an apology to everyone i have ever loved. I am sorry for being so sad and i am sorry for wanting you so much and i am sorry that i care too much till it gets suffocating and i am sorry for distancing myself because i could feel you hating me and i am sorry for reaching out you're probably busy and i never cross your mind . I am sorry that i love you and i am sorry that i can't stop ever .
I feel like i am five again . Moved to a new city and alienated in school , the girl who always shows what she's feeling on her face yet no one cares . And i feel seven when my only bestfriend moved to a different country and i had no one left who would understand me and go on play dates with me . I feel nine anxious about change almost breaking down because i had no friends again and i feel twelve watching three hundred teenagers ostracizing a child that had no clue what she did wrong . I feel fourteen crying for the first time in years in front of the whole class and asking why i was treated the way i was while the teacher watched in awe when all i needed was a little love , and i feel fifteen when my English essay was a suicide note yet all i got was a price for best essay for it .
Why do people act so blind.
Why do i long to be seen .
When will I grow up with people who would love me , always love me .
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Memories
One last time, I turned back at the end of the gravel drive that led to my childhood home. The sign at the road's edge proudly declared "SOLD." While someone undoubtedly celebrated this exciting new chapter, a wistful melancholy seemed to envelop the land, pulling me into its nostalgic bubble.
Recollections flooded in as I surveyed the scene. I reminisced about my brother and me chasing frogs in the brook that meandered through the front yard. His mismatched boots stomped through the shallow water. Sometimes he leaped in with only one boot adorning his tiny, scratched-up foot as he would run out of them on his way down the hill. Perhaps it was these childhood antics that shaped his enduring recklessness and independence today.
The concrete bridge, a summer project with Dad in the dry creek bed, still stood resolute today. Back then, Dad was the unquestioned "boss man," and my brother and I gleefully assisted in mixing concrete and carrying boards for the forms. "Yes, boss man!" we giggled, reveling in our roles as helpers.
The landscape unfolded before me. Mama would love the autumn colors and the singing of wildlife. I envisioned Mama, her long hair haphazardly bundled in a messy bun, donning a garden apron- her tool belt- and tending to her beloved plants. The memory of her immersed in the garden lingered.
Ramshackle fence posts still marked the drive, triggering memories of my sister's adventurous spirit. Convinced she'd be the next Olympic gymnast, she practiced backflips atop the fence line, only to trade her dreams for a cast after an unfortunate fall. Yet, she is clearly better suited as the fancy scientist she is today.
Old growth trees, meticulously cared for by Dad, adorned the property. For me, these trees defined the landscape. I recalled the breathtaking views from the makeshift loft in the sycamore at the back of the house—a simple board nestled between branches, secured with a few nails. The tops of trees with my backpack of books or sketching materials was where I spent most of my childhood.
As I turned away, the SOLD sign glared at me. Ascending the gravel driveway for the final time, I gathered the bubble of cherished memories to carry with me on my journey. With a smile, I wished the new owners a lifetime filled with their own cherished memories.
Image inspo @chillydownhere2
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