I fear intimacy too much that I refused to share my umbrella with him even if it was raining so hard because I was afraid our shoulders would touch.
Self portrait taken by a seven-year-old John Lennon. His handwriting on the back of the picture says:
Me at Fleetwood the year I lost my trunks in Mr. Shipway’s garden
This is so sweet.
:) im :) crying :)
the amount of cigarettes i smoke a day is directly proportional to the amount of bullshit i receive in a day
maybe it was how we let the cold hard floor and pneumonia taunt us that night
helplessly lying on the ground, staring at the ceiling’s ghost structures until our chests felt so cold
filling the spaces between the loose floorboards with cigarette smoke and contained silences instead of saying the necessary things
but instead of saying things, we let our damaged parts talk to each other, making sure to damage ourselves more by baring our backs to that cold hard floor
I figured out that maybe it was only in a haze of a drunken hour that you made me feel my bones crumble to powder and my already damaged lungs turn into a knot
because tomorrow when I wake up sober, these fleeting feelings might be gone, and your face wouldn’t even push a single bone out of place
and I’d probably go back to telling the universe that this isn’t probably the thing I need most