I see him again. I dislike this feeling. My heart sinks to my feet, the weight making them unable to move. He cocks his head to one side, a curious trait of his. His lips stretch into a quiet smile, his eyes glazed sleepily like they always are. In essence, he has not changed. The familiarity of his face is still a striking blow.
“Not you again,” I mutter.
“Hello, old friend,” he says.
I try to move past him. I can’t. I am unable to grasp myself or my words.
I am unsure of myself but I still say: “I will break you.”
A light hearted chuckle emerges from between his parted lips. He shakes his head and responds: ”Don’t you think that’s what I want?”
On the exterior I seem like someone who is naturally motivated…but I lose gas over time.
I’m seriously thinking about double majoring in English and journalism. I’ll be okay for this. It’s my life’s dream to have a PHD in English. It’s the one love I’ve never ran away from.
(via wethedreamers)
proving a point to my mom.
also, im curious as to how much of the tumblr population writes
(Source: moriartys-stolen-tardis, via lu3yve3)