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in march i’m seventeen and starving for something i can’t name. all bones and bad decisions, my lungs full of cold air and my hands full of nothing.
your memory slips back into my bloodstream with the grace of a liar who believes in their own confessions-
sweet and dishonest and exactly what i needed.
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mothsuponoldscarves✮ ੈ✩‧₊˚
you're amazing
angelwestwood
your writing is so special ugh. it's a delight being subscribed to your blog.
MWAH
by maxim !!; ; Report
Detective
this is beautiful
thank you :)
by maxim !!; ; Report