It's always, "you could've done it better". But never was, "you did great. you did what you could".

The smell of coffee makes everything better periodt

The free-spirit urge to tell your mom that you talk to a lot of people online but doesn't because of "what no you can't talk to people like that they might hack you and post your photos online and that will put the family in dismay forever oh my god I can't believe it don't talk to them anymore" yeah...

Love how everyone just LOVESSSS Eddie like? WHY DID THEY LET HIM DIE

Surprisingly this day went well so I'll just presume that the rest of week wouldn't

Is it just me or does it really feel good to listen to songs on pc than on phone?

I don't wanna be pretty I wanna be elegant

I want monsoon to come soon so I can snuggle into my blanket without having to sweat

I just realised that my username actually suit me 😃

For a past few weeks I did stuffs that are not exposing yet very satisfying for myself I hid my followers on insta so I can add my stories without being insecure and add it to my highlights I went to whatsapp at 3 am and posted a status and deleted it right after the second its uploaded don't know why but it makes me happy I do want to post but thinking about it is insecuring and when I get a chance to do it but also not have people to see it feels good like having achieving things from your wish list after a long time so that I don't feel bad about coming across it on my gallery someday and wishing I posted it not bcuz I want to tell people something but it's something for my inner self like a gift maybe?

Everytime I look at him, I cry. Like his beauty Hurts me.

He leaned down placing his head on her shoulder, slowly chuckling at his own actions. He hates her. So much that he can't stand the same air with her. Here he is, crying on her shoulder being confused with his own self.

Of all the faces, of all places, of all emotions, of all pain, of all love, you mark yours in every way possible.

Feed me devil. With sweet venom. That will forever linger on my skin to make you remember your own.

There is said to be a poet who writes about love but never had his own

For some odd reason, I can sense all the demons are crawling its way up from the ground ready to swallow me whole and spit out the remaining life out. A curse for a living dead.

She blinked;

Her long lashes slowly closing like it's been tired of holding all the beauty in it. And when she looked up, her lashes glewed up. Making anyone who is on the other side fall at her feet. It's almost like her eyelashes signing to bow anyone infront of her.