#of us

i wanna write a doomed yuri hollanov au where they are just normal girls in an entanglement where one transfers to the other’s college for love but has a boyfriend and the other cant deal and freaks out and moves home and rips up all their letters and they mentally and emotionally nuke each other and block each other for 7+ years and will probably never speak to each other again

Never let me overthink my life because I'll wind up connecting it to Project Moon like a fucking weirdo

the amount of violent crimes committed against nurses in the past maybe HANDFUL of days is obscene

golden threads like spools of glazed time, rippling over skin reflected upon or emboldened in time? slivers of voices trapped in the warm rays touching and painting your hair, wisps of unwound paths waiting to be caught. so many red strings, fluttering like our erratic beating, yet I'm left weaving tapestries from bare scraps of discarded lint. furious stitching, from the timed ripples dying, words of a melody barely coaxed by red and blemished fingers. the same golden threads, now remain unspooled, what a mess, caged like a broken Wallace. soft goodbyes left unsaid, braids woven for ultimate indifference. what knot did we miss for the tapestry to burn and not shine? the yellow so dull like jaundiced eyes but the red so stark like first drawn blood.