Polkadot

getting myself an academic rival will make my life so much bubbly

Hunger arrives before speech. Longing before knowledge. And I've always felt like a fawn leaning toward warmth with a body that still mistakes trembling for movement,but it aint cute its desperate nd ugly af

I need an intellectual orgasm

Normies dont understands how hard it is for a guy to be a puppy and a deer and a wolf and a raccoon and a dragonfly at the same time

Having standards so high that it's humanly impossible versus being utterly alone and mistook us unfit into society.

+ someone sayin 'they get me' actually pisses me off. no you dont wth

performatively passionate

If the world is against you, take it as a compliment

I dont think before i speak bcuz if i do i will be chalant

I'm the kind of person who would ruin a fairy tale before it has the chance to become a memory. I'd tell the child there was never magic in the cake—only sleepless hands, unpaid bills, quiet sacrifices, and a desperate need to make life look gentler than it ever was. The colors were never joy; they were camouflage. The candles weren't wishes; they were borrowed hope burning on borrowed time. Then I'd tell them to wipe their tears, because the world doesn't reward innocence—it consumes it. And the sooner they mistake wonder for an expensive illusion, the less surprised they'll be when they discover that almost everything beautiful was built to distract them from what it cost to exist.

Im one 'it's not that deep' away from bursting into flames

i loved "type shit" as a slang from a linguistics perspective because it genuinely just conveys nothing

Im not lazy i just like to keep things unresolved bcuz endings have an odd talent for shrinking things that once felt immeasurable

And another thing is that i still haven't learned the choreography of saying the right things

I've begun to suspect that I've never been devoted to people or things themselves, only to the atmosphere that gathers around them before they can be understood. Almost everything that has ever held my attention first arrived as a silhouette—an outline without confession, a presence without explanation, a rumour waiting for a language of its own. From a distance, the unknown possesses a peculiar elegance. It asks nothing except to be imagined. Then certainty arrives. Names replace speculation. Motives become ordinary. Every hidden corridor finds a door, every unanswered question settles into something disappointingly complete, and what once felt immeasurable suddenly fits inside a sentence. It's never resentment that follows, only a quiet disappearance. The fascination doesn't shatter; it simply evaporates, as though it had been sustained by uncertainty all along. Perhaps that's why obscurity has always seemed more generous than revelation. A veil offers endless interpretations, while transparency insists on a single one. Mystery keeps unfolding because it refuses to conclude. It grants the imagination permission to wander without ever demanding that it return with proof. People often speak of forbidden things as though desire grows from prohibition. I don't think that's what draws me. It isn't the rule that beckons; it's the threshold. The suspended moment before crossing it. The first glimpse through a barely opened door. The suggestion of a story that never quite introduces itself. There is an intoxication in standing at the edge of understanding, where possibilities still outnumber facts. Maybe what captivates me has never been possession, discovery, or intimacy. Maybe it's anticipation in its purest form—that exquisite interval where nothing has been confirmed, where reality hasn't yet interrupted imagination. The unknown remains infinitely hospitable because it never argues with the versions I create of it. And perhaps that's the quiet tragedy of finally knowing something. Not that it disappoints me, but that it can no longer become anything else. Once the veil is lifted, every path but one disappears, and I find myself mourning all the lives that mystery might have lived before certainty insisted on choosing only one. My apologise for ghosting you.

I dont think i will ever be happy cuz i only feel shit when it's hectic but you wouldn't understand

Maturing is realizing everything is just the fuckin same picture just in different angle and narration bro

im always a bit platonically in love with everyone

And yet again humans emotions still get triggered by sports

Im just out here making meaning out of clownery