Eff

There should be a word to describe that horrible feeling you get when you realize halfway through telling a story that it’s not as funny as you thought it was, but it’s too late to back out. So you just finish the story and everyone listening does that awkward polite laugh and then it gets quiet, so you burn your house down, fake your death, move to Chile and start a new life as a loner fisherman.

i wonder what’s gonna fuck me up next

Bruh this can’t be real!

I’m sorry but fuck them.

Right? Idgaf about their honeymoon.

We are all so hungry for love. But can we say that that’s not normal? Is it not normal to want someone to love us for everything we are. I absolutely hate how much I want to be in love. But I absolutely do not wish it were any different. This longing for someone, I don’t think it will fade. I’m constantly changing and I’m never consistent with anything I say. These things I write always contradict each other. I complain all the time wishing that I had somebody. But I’m afraid. It’s an uneasy feeling knowing how things could turn out. I’m fucking nineteen years old. How can anyone say at this age they know what they want out of life? How can anyone be so certain when we are constantly growing and changing and expanding? We are so young. How can we say that what we want now will be what we want in ten years? Or even in one year? I want love and I don’t. And maybe because love is not ready for me and I am not ready for love. 

baby animals? :)