Bullshit, you fucking miss me.

honey: lipstick, a sweet voice, confident laughter, handwritten notes, tries their best, loves fashion and dogs, bright eyes like the sun, new cities, good grades

woodsmoke: tired souls, ticket stubs and street maps from places they’ve visited, bodies full of untold stories, missing the train, coffee, gentle words 

wisteria: dreamy evenings, freshly-baked cinnamon rolls, sipping tea, writing in a diary, thick, worn-out jumpers, handfuls of flowers, falling in love, book piles

saltwater: dark, tousled hair, ripped jeans, paintbrushes, lofty grins, swallowing hard, a little broken, trying desperately to be a good person

ink: soft aching hands buried in messy hair, tragic smiles, scribbling on dusty parchment, ancient ruins, attic windows, stars, cups of tea gone cold

Girl: “You glue them on.”

Dude 1: [very confused] “Why would you do that? I don’t glue mine on.”

Dude 2: [also confused] “Yeah, what the fuck?”

Girl: “Have you never heard of gluing them on?”

Dude 2: [incredulous] “No!”

Girl: “Watch this.” [she removes her eyelash]

Dude 1: [slightly panicked] “No, I- STOP.” 

Dude 2: [shocked gasp] [pause] [concerned] “Do you still have eyelashes?”