Slow Burn But It's Written By An Impatient Person

Seven is blue, Thursday is orange, and opulence is purple.

in your head what colour is the number 7? thursday? the word 'opulence'?

An Artist 👌🏻

#160

cowboy comic

Dog Ruins Every Frame of Google Street View by Chasing the Camera (x)

I am not responsible for who I become when hyperfixating

“maybe, in another world, you’re just two boys tangled up in plaid sheets.

your armor is his worn sweatshirt, threadbare in all the right places. your helmet: his knit cap, the one you pull off of his head whenever he least expects it.

your hands aren’t meant to hold a weapon, not anymore. they tangle in his hair instead, intricate braids woven on lazy sunday afternoons, framing his face and falling gracefully over his shoulders.

somewhere in your mind, there’s the memory of waves slapping against rocks, loud and aggressive, a call to war that dragged you away from everything that had ever felt safe. the sounds here are softer. birds find a home outside your window, and their songs align with the sound of his steady breathing beside you each morning.

the room you share smells like coffee and hair conditioner, and feels more like home than anywhere else ever has. his clothes smell like him, and he never minds when you wear them.

the blood that once rushed in your ears and seized your heart in violent stutters is nothing more than the shower running now, every morning at the same time. sometimes you’ll join him, and other times you’ll lie in bed, listening to him sing until he wanders back to you. his damp hair is always wrapped in a towel on top of his head, and you both laugh.

in fact, there isn’t any blood here at all, just empty soda cans on your dresser, and a teapot sitting on the stove. he always puts fig leaves in his tea, and the notion stirs something in your heart that you can’t name.

he’s different here too. you’d love him in every universe, but his eyes never lose their brightness anymore. his hands hold yours without shaking, gentle and soft, and you can’t help thinking that this is how he was always meant to be. he never trembles in his sleep, and there’s a peacefulness to his face that never falters.

you aren’t afraid of losing him here. that’s the best part, isn’t it? he is a constant. achilles, achilles, achilles. you never feel like the ground is falling out from under your feet, and you’re never struck with the realization that he won’t always be beside you. “we’ll have each other forever,” he promises you, and you believe him.

maybe, in another world, you’re just two boys who love each other, and there isn’t a war or a prophecy to separate you.

maybe, in another world, you wake up every morning to the feeling of his lips against yours.

maybe, in another world, you’re happy.”

         -dear patroclus, i promise you there’s a place where everything is okay // jc

Your body is an incredibly bizarre machine.

“What you see is a myosin protein dragging an endorphin along a filament to the inner part of the brain’s parietal cortex which creates happiness. Happiness. You’re looking at happiness.”

you're telling me people DONT like when their cat is talkative?? you don't like meow meow?? mrrp? mmrp?

Very unphotogenic cats that will make you laugh out loud