If I ever thought someone lacked depth, it was likely I who was merely skimming the surface, mistaking the shallows for the entirety of their being, remaining on the shores of their vast and unexplored interior.
There is no other way to present ourselves other than in pieces.
But the good once would love to choke
But the good once would love to choke
“Even If I get the opportunities to shine with the stars, I would still choose to sit under the rain with you”
we all have different sensitivity levels, yet so many people minimise others feelings and experiences. it’s a complex topic and varies widely from person to person. idk why people can’t show respect and have productive conversations
Americans are so funny. they colonize any country they lay hands on and then laugh at ur face and say "you're soooo obsessed w ussss"
no one really talks about how hard it is to let people in when you’ve known abandonment since birth.
i can’t be the one who texts you all the time or even talk because getting attached feels like too much of a risk.
i can’t be the one who texts you all the time or even talk because getting attached feels like too much of a risk.
"why did you stay?" i wish i had an answer. but all i have is silence and the weight of a choice I can’t explain
another day asking myself how the fuck am i supposed to reply to that dry ass text message
I came up with the perfect joke in my dreams last night, but now I can’t remember it. And there was this beautiful voice laughing 😭
😭1
Letter from mentally ill Emma Hauck, in which one phrase is repeated: "beloved, come"
Addressed to her husband. 1909
"Beloved, come back" - this is how a love letter can begin. But the life situation of Emma Hauck, who wrote letters to her husband, is devoid of any romance.
Emma Hauck would spend almost 11 years, the rest of her life, here, where in 1920 dies.she does not ask about the whereabouts of her letters, which were never sent, or about meeting her husband.
Addressed to her husband. 1909
"Beloved, come back" - this is how a love letter can begin. But the life situation of Emma Hauck, who wrote letters to her husband, is devoid of any romance.
Emma Hauck would spend almost 11 years, the rest of her life, here, where in 1920 dies.she does not ask about the whereabouts of her letters, which were never sent, or about meeting her husband.