i want to sit on a rooftop with you at 2 in the morning and listen to your favorite songs and talk about how pretty the stars are
its pretty fucking crazy that i’m supposed to decide what i want to do for the rest of my life in a few months like hello my mom still talks to the doctor for me??
motherfucker what is this shit, sand? fuck sand. i hate sand. thanks, mom. thanks for absolutely nothing, leaving me here on this fucking beach, is that a fucking seagull? oh my god, mom, you suck more than anything has ever sucked. i’m getting to that ocean just so i can urinate on your carapace. i’m gonna urinate on it so hard. fucking sand. i think five of my brothers just got eaten. good, i hated those assholes. i’m coming, mom. you’ve got blood on your flippers, bitch.
Or, you know, you could just stop saying sorry.
I take it you don’t have anxiety.
You can’t “just stop saying sorry”. You do something, something so little, like accidentally bump into someone. You feel horrible about it. Your brain starts panicking and you have trouble trying to breathe. You stutter an apology. They say it’s okay, but you accidentally do it again, and you apologize again. They just say “Aha, you can stop saying sorry.” And you feel horrible that you’ve probably made them angry or upset, so you mutter out an apology for the third stupid time, and they just say to stop saying sorry. Stop saying sorry.
You can’t just tell someone to stop saying you’re sorry.
I want that comment on flyers so I can hang them in my school
reblogging this one for the GOOD commentary.