She Talked About Books With So Much Passion That You Wanted To Be Nothing But The Character She Had So

7llin’ in our Youth “The sun is setting and we’re still dreamin’ ”

Who hurt you

My expectations

good things will happen 🧿

things that are meant to be will fall into place 🧿

200813 vlive ◇ jaemin

bonus:

'The silent nights of winter,

Have heard more sad stories

Than any other.'

- Ris, @crystal-snow019

“Maybe there is a beast… maybe it's only us.”

-William Golding, Lord of the Flies

everyday its just a constant battle of me and my indeciveness

highly important culturally significant collection of snoozis

Gunshot

She kept staring at the other presence in the room. She received the same attention back. Tension was high between them, irritated by the uncalled company.

“I asked you to leave,” she said. There was no reply, just two set of eyes looking intently at each other. Eventually losing her calm, she said.

“I’m tired of you being with me all the time. My friends are worried but you never let me visit them. I don’t even feel like myself with you,” she screamed, chest heaving in anger and desperation. But this was needed; she needed to know the damage of being with her.

“Please, please I beg you. Please leave me alone,” she cried when her words were met with silence, yet again. But it smirked at her, those vicious human  teeth between the red lips.

Collecting herself together, she walked towards her table and pulled out the pistol she kept for emergency situations.

"I begged you. I still am. You leave me no options," she said as she loaded the pistol and pointed at it. Only to find a similar one towards her. But she didn't falter. Her fingers were ready to pull the trigger any moment, looking for fear in the eyes of her enemy.

She found none.

But she had to do it. In order for her own sanity. She braced herself one more time.

And she shot herself.

“There is a form of ancient Latin called Latinum Mortuorum, which can only be spoken in the past tense. You couldn’t say ‘I am alive’; only 'I was alive.’ It was spoken by children, often orphans. For them, the present, the future- these realms of time didn’t exist. Instead they spent their lives looking backward. In essence, living in the past.”

— Yvonne Woon, Dead Beautiful