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shbuddie · 2 years
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Taylor
Taylor stole a piece of sunshine 
just so he could wear it like a hat. 
He just got it a little dirty, 
So he wouldn't look like a brat. 
He now has the most beautiful hair color 
that I’ve ever seen. 
It contrasts with his eyes,
and the grass that is green.
He knows what he’s doing, 
he has that attitude, 
but the charming one: 
Without being rude. 
I can only imagine what I’m missing 
by not being with him. 
my eyes start to rain
and my heart looks dim.
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shbuddie · 2 years
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I just wanted to be like her
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shbuddie · 2 years
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shbuddie · 2 years
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shbuddie · 2 years
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shbuddie · 2 years
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“I think hell is something you carry around with you. Not somewhere you go.”
— Neil Gaiman
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shbuddie · 2 years
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shbuddie · 2 years
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shbuddie · 3 years
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It’s getting bad…it’s coming back.
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shbuddie · 3 years
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I feel this deeply
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shbuddie · 3 years
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“I am a different person to different people. Annoying to one. Talented to another. Quiet to a few. Unknown to a lot. But who am I, to me?”
— Unknown
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shbuddie · 3 years
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I feel like my cvts aren’t as deep as the ones I’ve seen on here. Fuck I should probably go deeper.
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shbuddie · 3 years
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shbuddie · 3 years
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green flag: she laughs at her own jokes
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shbuddie · 3 years
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Gustave Doré illustrations.
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shbuddie · 3 years
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shbuddie · 3 years
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The suicide letter that I never got to send
Every day I wake up tired. I wake up tired of waking up, tired of the cold, tired of not being able to breathe with a stuffy nose (for some reason I always wake up with a stuffy nose), tired of hearing my name. Tired of knowing there's nothing I can do today that will change how I feel tomorrow.
I'm tired of fighting myself. Tired of knowing that life is simple and that I see it as complicated - the world seems unreachable to me. I'm tired of not being able to do my best and tired of myself – at the same time, I no longer know who this “myself” is. I no longer know what I like or what I'm good at. I'm also tired of having lost my will, I don’t longer know what I want to eat, I just know that I don’t feel like eating what is there. 
One day I left school after having lunch alone and went to the park nearby. Because I wanted rest, I sat down on a bench, making time, and cried. I cried because even then the world was weighing me down. I cried because I knew where people were and I cried because I wasn't with them. I cried because I was crying in a park, I cried because I was crying in a mask and I even cried because no one noticed.
While I was sad, a pigeon climbed onto my bench. I thought “he doesn't mind my presence, maybe at least he prefers that I'm here” “he could have climbed onto one of the empty benches, a statue or a pole, but he climbed up here”. Had I received the hope I was looking for? No.
This situation only made me debate my inability to believe in God. God, destiny, premonitions, signs or any other divine. I envy those who, in times of adversity, can cling to a necklace, sing a few songs and feel that life makes sense: finding peace. As time went on, I concluded that the problem is not where I am, but who I am. I'm not fine in this life. I don't even want to go to another one. Existence hurts me so much.
I went in peace and I didn't suffer. This is no one's fault but mine. I recognize the selfishness of my act and I think you have every right to be angry with me. As long as it passes and you can move forward. I will be alive as long as you remember me and travel in our memories. For me, that's all that matters.
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