best friends means i pulled the trigger,

you're a fossil now to me and I don't miss you but god do I miss the fucking fridays. I miss spending the day knowing I had somewhere to go, something to look forward to, someone to feel at peace with later. i'd sit in the last history lesson surveying the city through the high classroom window, filled with that special type of excitement like a child on christmas eve, taking regular glances at the clock and counting down to the moment I could meet with you again. and when the much anticipated 3:05 arrived, we'd rush down to the european flag hung in the corridor, exchange a few words, and head towards your house. I went there maybe a dozen times but I can remember the surrounding landscape better than the back of my own hand. the dark alleyways, the barbed wire fences, the many dull blocks of flats, the top of the hill overlooking the hospital, the playground with yellow fences and shitty equipment, the odd patches of grass everywhere. although it would certainly make me cry I'd quite like to go back there someday. maybe in a while. it doesn't feel like my domain anymore, it would feel wrong, like visiting the past itself yet with nobody waiting for me there. but I suppose I still could return. there's nothing stopping me. your house on the other hand, the center of it all, I'm never going to see it again. it's it's shame really. I no longer mourn your rejection but I still mourn the feelings I experienced for the first time, the crispy taste of the nighttime air, the view from your window. I processed our breakup a long time ago but I think the places we went are still embedded into my mind as a second home. you're gone but the surroundings linger. every friday I would visit that place, and there I would find true peace. I don't know if I will ever find that sort of peace again. I have tried to capture it in art and writing yet it runs away. if I ever found it again I would wrap it in my entire consciousness and never let go. I wish I could see those two little pylons on a faraway hill through the glass of your kitchen window one more time. or your cramped boiler room filled with board games, your playstation setup with the lucky cat i'd gifted you underneath, your curtains that failed to block out any brightness, your chicken coop, your collection of seven blahaj that suspiciously kept diminishing until only one remained, your sectioned off doorway, your bedside table covered in odd trinkets, your painfully bright one piece lamp, no matter how hard I try I cannot forget it. someday I will be old and frail, possibly demented, and although I may not recognise their significance I am positive that the images of that place will stick with me. my memory has been worsening lately but my memory of dates, and of places, never wavers. yet despite the fact I can still see it so clearly, I will never see it for real again. it's all gone. you left a long time ago. and the pylons on the hill left with you. we will never again share friday in bed together, at peace, watched by those pylons. it's been four months now. I miss that place so much.

it’s been 11 months now. i don’t care for him and I don’t care for the memories of that place either. it’s taken on a new meaning now. i went back shortly after writing this to do something completely different, i can’t really remember but I don’t think i cried. i barely think about him these days. i used to yearn for a time like this. i’m so glad it’s come. i used to yearn for so many things, my life was miserable. all those things are mine now. i cannot help but keep wanting more and more from the world but no amount of greed can change how grateful i am that time is over. i found peace again, this time it’s peace that can’t collapse with a single sentence from another. if i could go back in time and tell him, kerfy from june, one thing, i think i’d go with a line from a song by the paper chase he hasn’t heard yet: ‘someday this will all be yours’. it’s a very simple lyric but it means a lot to me. i don’t know who’s reading this but i’m sure that someday this will all be yours too. whatever ‘this’ is to you.

he did a little dance and for this crime he was imprisoned in a bubble

They liked his little dance so much they gave him a spotlight

family album

who tf is buying tumblr premium

I hope something cool dope or legendary happens to me soon

brendon urie should have been a highschool drama teacher i think hes just egotistical enough to pull it off

he could make a 15 year old cry easy AND put on a solidly mediocre production of les mis

me and @ihearthoovering and max are having a THTEESOME drunk happy 2026 🥹

we actually did we’ve been fucking for lik x 2 hours

man what happened yesterday also is there some riveting conversation happening upstairs i got the sudden urge to come down and watch the alvin and the chipmunks movie vut i don’t wanna miss out on awesome discussion of recent events

@kerfy1080 Hello