or if you’d rather be the window I’ll gladly be the frame

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ikea-graveyard:

ikea-graveyard:

Your Bruise - Blankets + Marvin’s Room

people choose the worst times to be distant
can you blame them?

i can.

shattyice

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wolf throat, howl sound

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learning to say thank you to the worrier

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something you could lust for in a quiet way

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(via z2z2z)

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A podcast titled “what I tweeted about this week”

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3. To fletch — verb. to provide (an arrow) with feathers for flight.

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"Thus, like the Navel orange and the Cavendish banana, all the Granny Smith apples grown today are cuttings from the original Smith tree in Sydney.[8]"

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kaitrokowski:

Nothing ever ends poetically. It ends & we turn it into poetry. All that blood was never once beautiful. It was just red.

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