I will use every cannon, every bomb, every bullet, every weapon I have down to my own eyeteeth to end you.

the ordering of objects couldn’t hide what’s missing.
... love is not these belongings that surround you,
though there’s meaning in the memories they hold.

standing still is like running on ice—I only gain a little distance when I fall… tired of telling myself it’s okay to be this tired. this sick and tired of the turns the world takes and the people that it makes us be.