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#spilled words


I have had nightmares every day

Leading up to now

Your memorial

Nightmares that I would be late

I would have missed it completely

Letting you down again, again, again

I wonder now, if you thought of me

In your darkest times


I think of you often

I always have

I think of you often, but just not enough

When life gets in the way

Pushing back those thoughts

Before they can turn to words

Before they can turn into

hey. how are you. I miss you.


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Types of people - handwriting

Requested by @cup-of-moriarty


Neat and even - late nights with books to the nose, glasses folded away, perfectionism, carefully ironed clothes, more stationary than sense, polished shoes, huge home library filled with things they plan to read but never will

Messy and rushed - cramming all night, piled up coffee cups and crushed energy drink cans, a sense of importance, impulsive decisions paired with lazy laughter, a walking contradiction, always up to talk when needed

Loopy and cute - pen pal letters painstakingly decorated, heart dotted i’s, studio ghibli movies, bullet journal, pastel outfits perfectly matched, cute when sleepy, really good at calligraphy, always singing under mumbles

Indecipherable - rubbed eyes and chipped nails, assignments handed in with seconds to spare, master of procrastination, unmade sheets, the kind of person who puts ‘nrs’ on their snapchat story but reply immediately

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If art’s sometimes vulgar

It’s cuz life is profane

You do give two fucks

But still shit up rain

And life is a bitch

To an asshole like me

Flashing my tits

For all dickheads to see


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Comebacks I’m not particularly proud of- 1

To condescending people:

Roses are red, Violets are blue,

This situation is harrowing, just like an evening with you.

Roses are red, Violets are blue,

What went down? Just my opinion of you.

Roses are red, Violets are blue,

You’re at the door, all I want to say is shoo.

To men who call me hormonal:

Roses are red, Violets are blue,

You sound angry, calm down and take a tissue.

To #AllLivesMatter:

Roses are red, Violets are blue,

If you truly believe that, you’d be protesting too.

To #NotAllMen:

See previous post

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The Kings of Sorhenn and Palissé, Otmark and Frende respectively, met for the first time in their older years, when they sat to negotiate the release of the Fairy. Frende personally carried the Fairy in an orb that had been commissioned unto the Chief Orbfastener, Laverfoir. The refracted glass made the Fairy’s eyes look uncommonly large.

Otmark’s eyes looked almost as large when he desperately ogled at the orb. His hands grew fidgety, and his aide Hemdella had to calm him by his shoulders. Seats were prepared at the table, and retinues took up most of the seats. Then they rose again, but only for their respective kings.

“Ransom. And out with it,” Otmark croaked.

“This won’t do,” Frende smiled a smile akin to a snake’s visage. “We have to first go over the history of this fairy, and its capture, and its subsequent imprisonment, and…”

“How much? You’re wasting my time, Frende.” The use of the plain name, without any honorifics or royal niceties, made Frende’s retinue somewhat taken aback and even irate.

“Your Majesty, I trust you will understand the sheer generosity we are exhibiting by bringing the Fairy to the bargaining table. Indeed, if you impress upon me such an importance, which you are not currently engaged in, mind you, then…”

Otmark banged the table, and immediately started coughing and wheezing. Hemdella touched him again and only let go her hand when Otmark had stopped coughing.

“The Fairy is our property,” Otmark said. “There is no other stake here. You have stolen her, and now you will state your ransom.”

Frende shook his head slowly and turned to the Fairy, as if she were a co-conspirator of his. “And you?” he asked. “Do you agree with this assessment on the part of His Majesty the king of Sorhenn?”

The Fairy’s grand big eyes rolled on the surface of the orb, from one direction, to another. A member of Frende’s retinue immediately placed his ear to the orb, with little care or grace.

“I do believe she says she wishes to stay in our land of Palissé, Your Majesty,” the man said. He nodded quietly to himself as he drew away from the orb.

“This is nonsense!” Otmark slammed the table again and struggled to stand up. “You are playing us for fools. Like you always do!”

Frende shook his head again, smiling at his enraged counterpart. “One of your retinue is free to inspect the Fairy, if you so wish, Your Majesty.”

Otmark turned to Hemdella without delay, and she nodded at him before striding to the orb. Frende’s retinue gave her no trouble, and Frende himself slid the orb towards the edge of the table.

“By all means, ask and listen,” Frende said.

Hemdella cleared her throat. “Fairy of Sorhenn fair, do you agree that your home lies in the Sorhenn air?”

There were a few groans from Frende’s retinue. Hemdella ignored these and placed her ear to the orb. Her expression changed as she listened, growing troubled as time passed.

“Well?” Otmark asked impatiently, slapping the table with his right hand.

Hemdella’s closed her eyes and shuddered, ear still on the orb, and then she stood up straight and straightened her dress. “The Fairy has agreed to come with us to Sorhenn. She seeks the Sorhenn air.”

Frende’s retinue gasped and groaned, but Frende himself never lost his smile. “By all means, if the Fairy has changed her mind, then she has changed her mind. None of my banner will stop her exodus.”

Otmark stood up and grunted, which his retinue took as a sign to pick up the orb and leave.

“You know, when all is said, and all is done, you are not as awful a lout as I’d expected,” Otmark said.

“The pleasure is most sincerely mine,” Frende replied.

Otmark and his retinue left, and just before it did, the woman who looked like Hemdella looked back and smiled at Frende. “Until another time,” she said.

The real Hemdella, of course, could not be heard unless you put an ear to the orb.

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I don’t know why people leave me and I don’t know why some of them come back. But I know there are some people who will always be there no matter how many times I try to push them away. Some of them share my blood, some of them share my zip code, some of them share my alma mater, but they’ll all always be there. And you can let people leave when you know the ones who matter will always stay.

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if you lay down on a fallen tree in the woods on a windy afternoon and look up to the sky where the clouds chase each other you will, after some time, not be so sure anymore who is really moving: the clouds, or you and the trees and the whole world.

maybe i will spend my whole life trying to figure out who is moving.

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I’m scared, okay? I’m scared that one day you will wake up and not love me anymore. I’m scared that you will get sick of my craziness. I’m scared that you’ll get fed up of my mood swings and my panic attacks and my uncontrollable fits of sadness. Most of all, I’m scared that you will start to see me the way I see myself. Just please, please DONT LEAVE ME.

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I watched him against the glare of noon high sun. Blinding hot light stinging my eyes in pain but I dare not look away. Blinding light merging into a scene of lightning. Flashing. Blinding. Flashing. But I dare not look away.

It was hot. It was humid. I felt heat cover every inch of skin I have, both exposed and unexposed. Heat latching on like glove to a hand with the only evidence seen were the drops of sweat trickling down the ground. It was sweltering. Yet I was shaking. Shaking as if enveloped in the icy wind that cold night. Rain trickling down my drenched body. Dropping. Dripping. Hard on the ground. As I shivered.

I hear the rustling of the trees. They rustle against the gentle wind. Rustle with your footsteps. But the rustling gets louder each second. This was peace. Tranquil. Quiet. Unlike thunder. Unlike rain. Unlike the loud banging of drums. Unlike the plops of water against tin. Unlike an explosion. Unlike a howl. Unlike the rain. Unlike the thunder. Unlike a crash.

And now I see you. I see you in the bright daylight. I see you in the gentle breeze. I see you in serenity. But I still see the night. I still see the storm. I still hear the chaos. I hear the danger. I see the damage. I hear the blare. I see the blur. I hear the scream. I see flash. I feel the rage. I feel the hate. I feel the rage. Bright. Hot. Flash. Crash. Rage. Fury. Anger. Pounding. Crashing. Rising. Rage fury anger fury rage anger rage fury rage an-

“are you angry?”

I see the sun. I feel the breeze. I hear your steps. I hear the wind. I feel the heat. I see your figure. I see your figure. Retreating. Retreating. Fading. Fading. I see you. I can’t see you. Anymore.

- Are you angry? by chd

I haven’t posted in a while…

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Drunk on stars

who are loved by the moon,

held up by the sky,

and hidden from harm by the sun.

For only a moment

I feel cared for

by the whole universe

that once cherished the stars

that I now sip

so carelessly from my glass.

-Amelia J. Wilson // I May Have Been Drinking

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Hello darling! Thanks for writing in!

A bunch of carrots usually equals out to about four-six large ones. The organic bunches usually have 1-3 smaller carrots as well, and the sizes won’t be consistent.

I like carrots a lot, so I lean towards more carrot if I happen to buy a large bunch, but if you don’t like carrot, you can substitute it for a couple red/golden potatoes.

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There are versions of me that you will never know. That used to bother me. There was a period of time where you were the first person I wanted to tell everything to. I started to call you a few times, mostly on nights when I’d had too much to drink and wasn’t thinking rationally. You no longer know the trivial details of my life like the color of my curtains, my new favorite tea place, or the book that I’ve been reading, but it goes much deeper than that. You no longer know me as a person, and as a result you no longer have any bearing on my life. The sadness I used to feel has been replaced with immense gratitude. If you hadn’t left, I would have never grown.
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nature comes of age

as summer tightens its grip

on nature coming of age

i notice how flowers change places

and colours differ

without leaving alltogether this

imposant scenery

how good it is to be here

inhaling morning dew

and surrendering to the exuberant tales

of countless songbirds

today i won’t go home before


as i am under the spell

of it all

indeed, it is true

I am in love

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I’m waiting for the world to be better and do better. I’m waiting for us to heal together. And I’m waiting for a random day when I can dress up without any occasion and leave the house to wander outside with no destination but curiosity leading the way.

12:00pm- my perfect date (April 25th)

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