rails switching, tracks collapsing, we have always been a train wreck. you are forever aiming DEAD AHEAD and i lay down at your feet for you to run right over me.
rioting against the time we have, screaming out to heavens and unknown gods WHY CANT YOU SLOW DOWN WHY must you ruin everything you touch? you tear through ghost towns and sheriffs nod their respect back to you, you are a steam powered force to be reckoned with.
i know you wont come back this way, and even if you did i know you’d be on your way with someone else. but you needed me once, to lay parallel my bones for your track to elsewhere, and maybe, just maybe, i could pull myself apart and you’d use me again.
i’ll be your train tracks, give me my brain back // Mt
He’s figured out that while jerking his paw away won’t stop me from doing his nails, slowly rolling onto his back and gently pulling his whole leg away will stop me immediately because I cannot handle the cute.
*it looks like he’s baring his teeth but he’s not. His top lip got stuck on his gums.
“According to another variation, the wolf-like beast will hunt down and kill Catholics who do not follow the rules of Lent. This coincides with the French Catholic loup-garou stories, according to which the method for turning into a werewolf is to break Lent seven years in a row. [x]”
my feelings about actual Catholicism are weird and tangled up in family history and unpleasant school experiences, but catholic-adjacent mythology is fucking hysterical, every time.
I think one of the hardest things to accept about love is that just like they love you one day, they can wake up the next and just leave. You don’t get no note, you don’t see it coming, but one day they’re there kissing every inch of you, making promises, holding you when you’re down, belonging to every part of your life, then they leave without regret, just like they arrived. It takes one second. Everything comes crushing to the ground and you try so hard to escape the big pieces falling down from the roof. Accepting that the love you swear they once felt for you is gone, is the most difficult thing you will ever do in your life.
My biggest fear is not you leaving me. It’s not being alone and single for years. It’s not having no one to warm the bed at night.
My biggest fear is waking up one morning, wrinkles lining my face, grey weaving its way into my hair and realising I settled. I settled for a life and a love that didn’t help me grow, that kept me stuck and unfulfilled.
My biggest fear is regretting my life, and not chasing everything I can while I’m still young and foolish enough to believe it’s all going to work out.
Excerpt from the book I’ll never write //My biggest fear
Margaret and Mary Tudor, princesses and later Dowager Queens, the daughters of Henry VII and Elizabeth of York, the sisters of Henry VIII. Born nearly a decade apart, the two knew little of each other after Margaret departed to Scotland, yet shared the same passionate and self-possessed nature, choosing their own mates to the scandal and scorn of others.