It Was One Of Those March Days When The Sun Shines Hot And The Wind Blows Cold; When It Is Summer In

somebody resurrect Oh Sangwoo and make him listen to this-

sometimes I randomly think about the video of the single celled organism dying and it makes me really sad :'(

Sandra at her best, always 🤧

What they don’t understand about birthdays and what they never tell you is that when you’re eleven, you’re also ten, and nine, and eight, and seven, and six, and five, and four, and three and two and one. And when you wake up on your eleventh birthday you expect to feel eleven, but you don’t. You open your eyes and everything’s just like yesterday, only it’s today. And you don’t feel eleven at all. You feel like you’re still ten. And you are—underneath the year that makes you eleven.

Like some days you might say something stupid, and that’s the part of you that’s still ten. Or maybe some days you might need to sit on your mama’s lap because you’re scared, and that’s the part of you that’s five. And maybe one day when you’re all grown up maybe you will need to cry like you’re three, and that’s okay. That’s what I tell Mama when she’s sad and needs to cry. Maybe she’s feeling three.

Because the way you grow old is kind of like an onion or like the rings inside a tree trunk or like my little wooden dolls that fit one inside the other, each year inside the next one. That’s how being eleven years old is.

I’m eleven today. I’m eleven, ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, and one, but I wish I was one hundred and two. I wish I was anything but eleven, because I want today to be far away already, far away like a runaway balloon, like a tiny o in the sky, so tiny-tiny you have to close your eyes to see.

sandra cisneros; eleven

so like truth is d hero nd lies are d side characters right?

It was November— the month of crimson sunsets, parting birds, deep, sad hymns of the sea, passionate wind—songs in the pines. Anne roamed through the pineland alleys in the park and, as she said, let that great sweeping wind blow the fogs out of her soul.

L.M Montgomery; Anne of Green Gables

Go Yahwi is me and I'm Go Yahwi, and u'll still love me

iknow it

also fuck u

This show has given a taste to the daily sorrows, a platform for heartbreaks but where, where do we bury our dear little hearts being constantly pierced with those ice shards?

(via https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dn8Rrj1mV98)

Sherlock narrates his thoughts as he leaves John’s wedding.   Just what was racing through his mind as he left the reception? Hear the sorrow from his own mouth, if you can stand it. 

Now that you're back, let's fuck thru some Johnlock✨✨

i miss you @johnlocky @dmeanie @barrybclout

Sleep deprived writer

@jakegyllenholmes @strobilantus

Nd any1 else is wlcm.. :)

Ah this one was really fun uwu

You can make one here i hope the link works

I'm tagging:

@yanderechangbin @sproutminmin @jaessecretheaven @jaehyunssslut @bleuatlas @kiss-me-kihyun @musicfreakme @missskzbiased @thevampywarlock @bythesunnotbythemoon @xprincessofpurgatory @hotmesshapa @dom--minnie @aliceu @hanjizung @softforqiankun @yourdaddychan @ethan806 @daisyxiao @flawlessjunk @bobateastay @golden-chan

you fucking coprolite