“we’re awful,” rejoiced myra gently. she slipped her hand into his, her head drooped against his shoulder. sudden revulsion seized amory, disgust, loathing for the whole incident. he desired frantically to be away, never to see myra again, never to kiss any one; he became conscious of his face and hers, of their clinging hands, and he wanted to creep out of his body and hide somewhere safe out of sight, up in the corner of his mind.

who needs labels

when you’ve got things like allergies and unassigned summer reading

these sidewalks go in circles

i’m waiting for those cobbled streets

notre dame de paris est chez moi

help me, omg leo

stupid industrial

bopeep:

it’s really not like i haven’t tried to hide my disdain for you

it’s just

i have so much of it, it like seeps into my face

SORRY