I just want to pour my soul out on someone and not have to worry about the mess I’ve made.
Before you know it it’s 3 am and you’re 80 years old and you can’t remember what it was like to have 20 year old thoughts or a 10 year old heart.
Everyone who terrifies you is sixty-five percent water.
And everyone you love is made of stardust, and I know sometimes
you cannot even breathe deeply, and
the night sky is no home, and
you have cried yourself to sleep enough times
that you are down to your last two percent, but
nothing is infinite,
not even loss.
You are made of the sea and the stars, and one day
you are going to find yourself again.
but why would you even give him the waterbed
he had scissors
411k notes and every single person knew exactly what the fuck you were talking about
who the fuck else has fucking scissors for hands. of course everyone fucking knows what this fucking post is about.