A Fragile Ballet On The Edge Of Disorder.

A fragile ballet on the edge of disorder.

okay but being called "love" is possibly one of the biggest heart-melting things ever, it's like you, yes you, you are the purest motif of love, fucking hell that endearment breaks me into a thousand pieces

now that it is officially too late for my birthday to still be relevant, I'm kinda upset that I didn't do anything.

I had 3 family members die the day before and didn't hear about it until the day of my birthday, so I just got a lot of apologies and the remaining family members just... forgot. but also, I have friends that have sent me a happy birthday message for the past 5 years or so and it was radio silence this year.

I can't help but feel selfish that I wanted to be thought of on my birthday, but is it so wrong to want what other people don't have to work for?

I make an effort to at least tell people happy birthday on their birthday or let them know I'm thinking about them, but I am not awarded that luxury.

I truly believe that I am meant to be forgotten.

alone with you in the ether by olivie blake

bakwaaas, tumblr // and then we’ll be okay by exurb1a, youtube // a journal of love: the unexpurgated diary of anaïs nin (1934-1937) by anaïs nin // dead poets society (1989), dir. by peter weir // the thing is by ellen bass // soracities, tumblr // life is beautiful (1997), dir. by roberto benigni // vigilantelawdotgov, tumblr

via radiantsomatics