It Spirals Down My Throat And Roots Into My Spine, Rendering Me Mute. I Didnt Plant These Seeds.

it spirals down my throat and roots into my spine, rendering me mute. i didn’t plant these seeds.

do me a solid and just reblog this saying what time it is where you are and what you’re thinking about in the tags.

love to me is this:

tags that no one else understands.

conversations via reblogs.

exchange of music and lyrics.

notion comments.

mundane mornings; normal conversation.

dreams of little cottages in the middle of nowhere.

our cats that don't exist yet: chai and toast.

the collection of degrees we will soon hold.

obsession and excitement.

ramblings about anything and everything under the sun.

for that girl with bright eyes alight with hundreds of interest and too many things to say is who i fell in love with.

okay okay, let me preface with everything sherlock says in this moment;

“john, there is something i should say, i've meant to say it always and never have, since it's not likely we will ever meet again i might as well say it now. sherlock is actually a girls name.”

right okay. sherlock is essentially saying, 'i love you, but i can't tell you. here is a piece of me you can take with you into this new life of yours, since i won't be there.'

and for a man who saw sentiment as a weakness, it's a pretty sentimental thing to do. <3

okay its still incubating, but i have a thought relating to the scene on the tarmac. (ignoring the middle names thing, which btw is such a freaking dope analysis and I love it dearly)

specifically, the moment when sherlock says to john 'sherlock is actually a girls name' its such a raw(?) thing to say.... i'm trying to articulate the emotion hold up.

Girlhood is a spectrum: biblicially accurate angel <--> gregor samsa