Dear followers, I’m sorry for being so lame and boring.

It goes like this. If you pretend that you’re happy or fine for a long period of time you start to believe it. It becomes so natural for you to pretend, that people start to believe it too. All of a sudden its 2 am and you’re wondering why the fuck do you even bother, but that’s okay. Because the sun will rise in a few more hours and everything will be fine and happy again. It’s ingrained to you now. Get up. Fix your mask, survive the day, go to bed, drop your mask, hate yourself., sleep, wake up and then repeat.

hey could you hold this for me a second *gives you my hand*

They told me that to make her fall in love with me all I need to do is to make her laugh, but every time she laughs, I’m the one who’s falling.

It’s okay, even the skies cry sometimes.

It sucks that you can’t make someone love you when technically speaking they made you love them.

  • Saying fuck you in an educated manner: My ulna radius middle carpal salutes you.

I hate when people make promises about the future when they don’t have any idea of what really could happen. People say things like “I will always love you, I will always be here for you, and things will get better. I promise” but 6 months later… you’re loving someone else, you’re not here beside me, and there’s no sign of things getting better.

I’m the type of blogger na parating online pero scroll lang ng scroll sa dash bc I can’t think of what to post.

One day someone is going to hug you so tight. That all your broken pieces will stay back together.

They didn’t have a normal relationship. They teased each other, they hit each other on the face, they called each other with funny names but underneath that anyone could see how much they cared because if you listened closely to every "shut up" there was an "I love you" inside it.

  • She: is laying in bed with the doors locked. The lights are off and the curtains are drawn The Notebook is in the DVD player. An empty tub of ice cream is on the floor beside a dozen crumples tissues. She got her music blasting so no one can hear her sob. Her fingertips are smudged with black from wiping away her mascara-stained tears. She's replaying their last conversation. Thinking I'll never get him back.
  • He: is laying in bed with the doors locked. The curtains are drawn and the lights are off. Call of Duty is in the Xbox. An controller is lying on the floor beneath the wall he nearly punched the wall in frustration. He got his music blasting so no one can hear him crying. His hair is a mess from running his hands through it and he's replaying their last conversation. Thinking she'll never take me back.
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