andrea

knee deep in the passenger seat, and you're eating me out, is it casual now?

can we donate our bodies to the poets after we die? will they disect my heart to study the intensity with which i loved you? can they trace the arteries through which blood stopped flowing after you left? will they find the shape of your hand etched into mine if they cut open the skin of my palms? will they measure the curve of my vertebral column to see exactly how much a person bends before they completely break? will they inflate my lungs for one last time to measure the capacity of the ache that i felt when you left? will they see the carbon buildup along the tissue and realize it wasn't smoke that killed me, but the ash of every letter that i burnt? will they find a hollow space where the bone marrow should have been; emptied out to just make room for the memory of you? will they? will they?

you seem pretty heartbroken for a girl who doodles cute little hearts in the margins of her notebook.

SPEAK UP, I KNOW YOU HATE ME

is all this living really worth dying for?

it was the best of times, it was the worst of times

this tumblr was just supposed to be a stupid fling after leaving behind instagram, why the fuck can i not leave tumblr too? why the fuck is tumblr so cute why are the little hoomans inside this glowing screen, the sweetest ones i've ever seen? whywhywhy

the only correct way to solve a rubik's cube is to first take it apart piece by piece and then reassemble it

i love love love being a girl. but sometimes when i watch dead poets society, good will hunting, stand by me or read the kite runner, secret history, a little life or when i read about the marauders, i just want to experience living through boyhood.

every guy i like is gay