scorp

sometimes i wonder if there’s a point to even writing this

writing is unseeing.

I thought love was all in the shoulders. Hunched, preparing for the moment you will lunge at my neck. [...] Love and fear, as far as I knew, were the same scars.

The better I get, the more I yearn for what I cannot create.

Birthday cakes and treasure hunts. Damp towels and bickering in a squeaky car. White wine and cigarettes.

My window is stupidly narrow. Whenever I smoked and couldn’t muster the twenty seconds it takes to clear my ashtray, the wind would spurt through; like an arrow through the arrowslit...

a little life story <33

the story of two girls and unlikely love, even when winter is the coldest

random diary entry. enjoy

Time could kill, but it could not kill everything.

to all the people who only how to bring light to the world, thank you!

Gun in hand, a dissociative sociopath like her could be up to anything.