I did not like to be touched, but it was a strange dislike. I did not like to be touched because I craved it too much. I wanted to be held very tight so i would not break. Even now, when people lean down to touch me, or hug me, or put a hand on my shoulder, i hold my breath. I turn my face. I want to cry.
|—||Marya Hornbacher (via angelled)|
I hate my friends
So my driving instructor texted me, and I was walking so I just typed ‘Ok’ and hit send and then I looked at it and was like WHAT
But as it turns out, my friends are entirely responsible for turning ‘Ok’ into a shortcut.
I’m not afraid of dying. Pieces of me die all the time.
|—||Sage Francis (via furples)|