Dude, where’s my kissy. Where is my fuckin snuggles bro
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you contradict yourself because you contain multitudes. i contradict myself because i am wrong.
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“The Visit at Moonlight” by Edmund Thomas Parris, 1832
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Sometimes a creative outlet is a fun little hobby and sometimes it's a lifelong affliction. Like I crochet because making little woven animals sparks joy and I'm a writer whether I like it or not because I'm tormented by visions
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descending into madness. y’all want anything?
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i dont “have ptsd” that’s all just the wizard’s curse
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