Varför svarar du inte när jag är kär så att det skriker!
“One of my friends told me he had a nightmare about me killing myself and I said for me it was a dream.”
Jag är rädd.
I'm glamorous famous notorious dangerous But i'm crazy
Till en annan.
Det är bara bra att få skriva av sig ibland!
Den känslan med att inte känna sig bekväm med sig själv har man ju känt förut, tyvärr.. Är ett jäkla helvete när man är i det, men när man några år senare står där och tänker tillbaka inser man hur stark man blivit som person. Mitt liv är ju inte precis perfa om jag skulle säga det så, finns ingen som märker av mina problem. Men när jag tänker tillbaka på all skit man tagit genom åren, med vänner som utnyttjat en och andra som skrikit saker åt en, så inser man att man står starkare för sina åsikter. Man kanske inte älskar sitt liv, man kanske fortfarande har problem, men det blir bättre!! Kram och var stark!
I'm in tears
“One day, he’s going to know. He’ll know your birthday, your middle name, where you were born, your star sign, and your parents names. He’ll know how old you were when you learnt to ride a bike, how your grandparents passed away, how many pets you had, and how much you hated going to school. He’ll know your eye colour, your scars, your freckles, your laugh lines and your birth marks. He’ll know your favourite book, movie, candy, food, pair of shoes, colour, and song. He’s going to know why you’re awake at 5am most nights, where you were when you realised you’d lost a good friend, why you picked up the razor and how you managed to put it down before things went too far. He’s going to know your phobias, your dreams, your fears, your wishes, and your worries. He’s going to know about your first heartbreak, your dream wedding, and your problems with your parents. He’ll know your strengths, weaknesses, laziness, energy, and your mixed emotions. He’s going to know about your love for mayonnaise, your dream of being famous when you were five, your need to quote any film you know all the way through, and your fear of growing older. He’ll know your bad habits, your mannerisms, your stroppy pout, your facial expressions, and your laugh like it’s his favourite song. The way you chew, drink, walk, sleep, fidget and kiss. He’s going to know that you’ve already picked out wedding flowers, baby names, tiles for the bathroom, bridesmaid dresses, and the colour of your bedroom walls. He’s going to know, get annoyed at and then accept that you leave clothes everywhere, take twenty minutes to order a Starbucks, have to organise your DVD’s alphabetically, and check your horoscope… just incase. He’ll know your McDonald’s order, how many sugars to put in your tea, how many scoops of ice cream you want, and that you need your sandwiches cut into triangles. He’s going to know how you feel without you telling him, that you need a wee from a look on your face, and that you’re crying without shedding tears. He’s going to know all of it. Everything. You, from top to bottom and inside out. From learning, from sharing, from listening, from watching. He’s going to know every single thing there is to know, and you know what else? He is still going to love you.”
fuck uuuuu tooo
