washed in black, tattooed everything

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What is it like to walk through someone’s house, to feel their leftover molecules against your skin, to hear the faintest echoes of them leaving? What is it like to move your bags… Continue reading

In Your Head They Are Dying

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I found this written in one of my older notebooks. felt like I hadn’t shared much on my blog for a while, so I should put this up as compensation. I don’t know… Continue reading

why should I bother titling this

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I’ve begun to hate the whole ‘I contain multitudes’ idea. I hate every breath I have taken since I was twelve, I hate how I’ll never be okay with who I am, and… Continue reading