Pinning my Taylor mood board up on my wall, as I am determined to one day meet her and tell her she is pretty. I was so broke in Feb so couldn't go see her, why did she only play in Tokyo 😭😭😭😭 hello? There's more than just Tokyo.
Hoax by my girl Taylor Swift is such a Sam coded song.
My eclipsed sun. This has broken me down. My twisted knife. My sleepless night. My win-less fight. This has frozen my ground
This is Sam's room in the Woods. Enough said.
Stood on the cliffside. Screaming, "Give me a reason". Your faithless love's the only hoax. I believe in. Don't want no other shade of blue. But you. No other sadness in the world would do
HIS LOVE FOR EMMA AND LEAVING HER.
You know I left a part of me back in New York. You knew the hero died, so what's the movie for?
Shut up! This is Sam's pain for Luke. Luke is the hero who died, and God U is in New York State right! Oh my god!!!
You knew it still hurts underneath my scars. From when they pulled me apart. You knew the password, so I let you in the door. You knew you won, so what's the point of keeping score? You knew it still hurts underneath my scars. From when they pulled me apart. But what you did was just as dark. Darling, this was just as hard. As when they pulled me apart
This is clearly Sam and how he views Cate. She caused his pain but she has liberated him.
Don't want no other shade of blue. But you. No other sadness in the world would do
And this last part, no wait for it, is Emma thinking about how she has lost everything now without Sam. He was her blue eyed boy and now he's with Cate.
I just need to see Sam in his new outfits. I want to see him decked out in designer watches, blazers, shirts and shoes. I want finary to rain down upon him. After a whole season of sweetpants and that unflattering jumper, it's bout time my boy looked dapper.
The Tortured Poets Department. An anthology of new works that reflect events, opinions and sentiments from a fleeting and fatalistic moment in time - one that was both sensational and sorrowful in equal measure. This period of the author’s life is now over, the chapter closed and boarded up. There is nothing to avenge, no scores to settle once wounds have healed. And upon further reflection, a good number of them turned out to be self-inflicted. This writer is of the firm belief that our tears become holy in the form of ink on a page. Once we have spoken our saddest story, we can be free of it.
And then all that’s left behind is the tortured poetry.