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I’m slowly starting to accept the life that has been given to me. For many years, I’ve fought the fact that I haven’t had a mother there to comfort me in a hospital bed or a father that comes around more than a couple times a week. People have it worse, but that, that doesn’t matter. People will always have it worse than you do, but that doesn’t make our feelings any less; it just puts everything into perspective, I suppose.

We are all born with the capability to love, to laugh, and to try to enjoy the life we are given. Sadly, some of us are faced with obstacles and yeah, some of us tripped and fell. Cheers to the ones that got back up and kept running the race. And cheers, to all of you beautiful creatures that are still finding a way to gain the strength to get back on your feet. I know how hard it is. I know that it feels like you’re broken in every sense of the word; and you might be. 

I’ve been alive for the better part of seventeen years. Many years of my life were a blur; not because I was so young, that I couldn’t remember. But, because I’ve had to repress it all. It has taken me seventeen long, almost-completely-awful years to figure out that you cannot make homes out of human beings. You can create your own family out of the odds and ends of other people, but no matter how comforting his or her voice is, no matter how warm his arms are, you cannot make homes out of these people. The foundation of another person, will never be strong enough to carry your brokenness. 

Sleep is a hard thing to achieve at 2 A.M. when your head is spinning 100 miles per hour. But I’ll keep trying. 

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Posted 21 hours ago







it hurt when I stumbled across her.  she was like broken glass all along the floor.  but it was beautiful and my curiosity got the best of me.  I remember looking at her and all I could see was pain.  she had this insane look of desperation; you could almost feel it. and yet her eyes were still hollow; like the life had been sucked out of her.  I wanted to pick up her pieces.  I wanted to put her back together. and so I tried. I really did. I got a little cut along the way.  the more I tried to fix her the more fragile I became myself but I didn’t care.  I wanted to see her happy.  every time I made her laugh I thought about how I wanted to make her laugh forever.  she was getting better.  eventually she was put together enough to get up and walk away.  but she didn’t take me with her.  and I’ve been stuck sitting here where I first found her. wondering if the pieces left on the floor are hers or mine. I should probably get the fuck up.



This actually fucking hurt to read.


Oh my god, this is so heartbreaking yet so fucking beautiful to read. Just wow, I’m speechless.

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"I think about you. But I don’t say it anymore."
— Marguerite Duras, Hiroshima, Mon Amour (1959)

(Source: larmoyante, via do-the-scarn)

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Kishan Chopra
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How'd you get all those amazing shirts??

Concerts. Lots of concerts.