mymuse

Ink

i put off reading my previous journal entries for a while. Coming up with excuses such as “oh, I’ll start rewriting all of my crap when i get a spiral bound, three-whole punched high quality lined paper notebook”. I got that, several times actually, each with the thought that I would use this to track my messages, just in case the book lit on fire and i could not retrieve them again, or I got locked out of my Instagram account. To be completely honest, the words I had tucked in the back of my brain, the same ones that made me think way to much, reading them is like feeling all over again, and who the fuck would want to do that twice

I was not the one who was in the hospital but at times it felt like god gave me my own version of heart disease, and those mornings were my medicine. 

I don’t sit in the basement with the volume too loud, or with my headphones in. I don’t take naps, or take a shower. I’m afraid that when I walk upstairs I’ll see her clutching her chest, falling off her chair, calling out my name and unable to breath again. 

pew pew pew pew pew pew pew pew pew pew pew pew pew pew pew pew pew pew pew pew pew pew pew pew pew pew pew pew pew pew pew pew pew pew *me violently shoting everyone’s heads off 

theres a fucking story to everything, dont worry, I always end up circling it back to me. What can I say, I am an aquarius 

weeddiariespartone

dear diary