like there comes a point where you think something is fundamentally wrong with you. and then it turns out it’s just Friday and you haven’t washed your hair in three days and maybe you’re also just a little lonely and the combination of all three of those things is whittling a hole into your chest every time you breathe. but also the sun’s up. and you’ve survived everything so far, so you’ll survive this too, even if it hurts, even if you have to survive it many times.
im into some fucked up shit. raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens. bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens. brown paper packages tied of with strings. i could go on but you couldnt even handle it
