so there i am, depression all over my titties 

crazy that i’m only able to see life through my own eyes.. there’s over 7 billion other perspectives i’ll never be able to have.. over 7 billion stories i won’t ever be able to fully know. we all get such a small slice of the experience of life.. pass by strangers every day that we’ll never be aware of. what are they going through? what are they thinking about? i always wonder.. 

I;m thinking about thos Beans

"You can't change nature." "Change is nature." is kind of a raw line to be from ratatouille

you dont wanna mess with me i cry easily

tbh can’t wait until women collectively just snap

next thursday? wanna all just snap next thursday ladies? i’ll put it in my planner

My last two brain cells

LMAOOOO

Anyways! *climbs out of the scattered and ruined debris of my feelings*

everything happens for a reason but like, what the fuck

finding out picasso died in 1973 feels like the fakest thing ive ever heard. everyone talks about him like he lived in a cave with nothing but a torch and paint he made from berries or bear shit or somethin but nah this dude probably sat down watchin looney tunes thinkin “damn i should draw some dude with a nose on his forehead thatd be dope” i feel so lied to