Friend: ew i hate your music
Me: I didn’t ask your your fucking opinion, get out.
Come along, dearest
You spoke of beauty as though you didn’t feel that it applied to you or the sublime way in which you smile, the way your skin melts effortlessly over your frame because you, my dear are lovely and it pains me that you don’t recognize just how exceptional you are.
This post is posted on Thursday 14 June 2012.
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Currently has 5 notes
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