I want this sooooo bad that I just can’t help but get so worked up about things and paranoid. Maybe I should want it a little less so I don’t ruin it before its officially began..
Things don’t always make sense. (Taken with instagram)
must you decide to always come back, right after I just became fine and ok with letting you go?
Love is like art, heartbroken on the canvas. Painted the perfect picture, you seem to never get it.
Colors prevail and you turn into a fucking monster…
“Are the details in the fabric, are the things that make you panic, are your thoughts results of static cling?” -Jason Mraz