You think ‘Okay, I get it, I’m prepared for the worst’, but you hold out that small hope, see, and that’s what fucks you up. That’s what kills you.
once i take my bra off, don’t ask me to do shit for u bitch bc once that bra comes off, i am clocked out of life. i am done. i am finished. i am logged the fuck out.
i wanna date someone and live with them in a shitty apartment but be happy about it because we are happy together and we can decorate it with stupid dorky posters of shit we like and figurines and art and we can cook weird recipes we found on the internet and eat them and watch cartoons even if the food is gross because we made it and we’re perfect