home.

عب نداره الین با اینم قراره کنار بیای

همیشه پایه یه ادم دیگه وسطه

i wish to write of tenderness the way i write of guilt, of detestation, of spite, for i know her better than all, for i feel her stronger than all, for i wish to carry her tighter than all. screams of loathe and abhor are embraced far much tighter than fondness, for your hunger will not tame of breaking what is already broken into smaller pieces, yet man craves to see something so uneaten consumed. to be besotted with attachment is to be drunk on shame, for to be soft is to be dense.

Why is writing block so exhausting? Like this is my only healthy coping mechanism and I'm just mentally banned from it? And if I try to write anything it feels like a cold molded bowl of food I can't even look at? Where do I sort all of this out then? Am I now sentenced to be stuck and alone with everything inside my head?

us in another universe

0:31 and ur hand touchs mine when we're done makin love and u look up and give me thoes eyes