One day I will stop falling in love with you. Until I do, I'll be thinking of you.
k.b. // laufey, philharmonia orchestra - let you break my heart again
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"Days will pass, and you'll abandon things you were addicted to, and leave someone, and cancel a dream, and finally, accept a reality."
– Nizar Qabbani
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Irish-uwufication is so fucking weird anyway but like people act like Hozier - who writes primarily blues songs about politics, books and music he finds interesting, and having sex with hot women he picks up in bars - is just a nature man is so weird. Like you have Americans saying he is a bog man, he only writes acoustic songs about chaste love and nature. He lives in the woods and doesn’t interact with society at all. He is made of trees and fairies because that’s what Ireland is.
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just saw this on pinterest and it hit me like a truck
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I just keep circling back to “I find the artifacts/Cried over a hat/Cursed the space that I needed/I trace the evidence/Make it make some sense/Why the wound is still bleeding” as we slowly get more information about this album.
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local fic reader finds absolutely perfect sent-from-above goldmine of an ao3 fic and discovers the author has not written anything else since 2021. 3 wounded 4 dead
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My aroace toxic trait is that I believe that under some extremely particular and planets-aligning circumstances I could experience the most heart wrenching and fluffiest romance ever
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[ID: text reading:
Frequently Asked Questions:
How did you become like this? How was your childhood? Do your loved ones find you constantly grating? "Your clinician may ask to talk to family or loved ones to get complete information on the ways that your symptoms are [affecting] you. "Did you know you can lead a normal and fulfilling life? Did you know no one will ever truly love you? Do you know what compassion feels like? Do you care? How does anyone deal with you? How should I talk to you? Wow, you seem so different from everyone else who fits this arbitrary group of symptoms that I vaguely know. Why are you different? Are you special? Are you stupid? Are you human? Are you cursed? Are you monstrous? Are you possessed? Are you made of metal? Is rust eating you from the inside out? Are you a real boy? Are you a real girl? Are you raw meat? Are you beautiful? Are you an angel corrupted by pride upon seeing the shape of god? Are you an abstract painting? How can I make you what I want you to be in my singular narrative? end ID]
frequently asked questions, sunny valentine
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To a Drowning Man
Here is the weight of a heart:
dreams gone ragged at the edges,
faded and frayed, the ghost of hope
rather than her full splendour,
and yet,
it’s enough, isn’t it? She sings
still, not siren but lullaby,
a reminder of strength
in darker times,
a hand offered
without expectation, just steady
and steady on—
the constant promise
of softness, breath
to a drowning man
who has ignored his own drowning—
sometimes, love is this
potential:
glimmer unexpected,
gentleness unasked for,
a silhouette standing in shadow,
imperfect heart
shining, a torch song
burning
against the dark.
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