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you'll miss me when i'm goneyou shone so bright that night
you wax and wane, come up for air and go then up and leave me for your self contained rants.
you change your mind too often
i can't keep up.
i was stupid to think i was number one
you never had a soulmate
you had a hundred servants.
damn you for loving me
damn me for believing it.
this is not worth reading.my teacher used to say that she kept the TV on at all times to block out the silence.
the noise and bangs and explosions and insomnia shine would make you forget you were alone.
we don't need TVs, there is no complete silence.
there's still the noise of sugar in your cup, breathing, the living sounds of machinery.
blood pumping in your ears, there's still noise.
3 cups of coffee and counting.
a boy once told me that the world is not as complicated as i think it is. he was wrong.
everything is complicated. chemistry is complicated. maths is complicated. love is complicated. social interaction is complicated.
'my behaviour in social situations can be described as a low level panic attack.'
being a bit rude is a psychological symptom.
can't we just be bad tempered?
he just underestimates it.
5 cups of coffee and counting.
an ex said I was the best thing that ever happened to him.
he was wrong as well.
there are friendships that we think will never end and then one day the
this isn't realthe first was unexspected.
dodging the questions, the frustrated looks, then it came.
it was unexspected but it felt like everything clicked into place. everything was there - the fireworks, the crashing waves, the never ending parade of clichéd scenarios.
then it was a run to privacy.
it wasn't pretty and it sure as hell wasn't romantic
the raw, dark earth pressing into your knees and the thin, whispy blades of grass in your hair making everything tangible.
drawn out breaths, shuddering.
you hugged me.
as tight as you always do, but more so.
like you never wanted to let go
like, if you could, you'd stay there forever.
but you had to go.
and you still have to go.
The Panic Room (A Supernatural One-Shot)“Dean…? Dean?”
The name felt like lead on Sam’s tongue, so thick and heavy that he wasn’t sure if the syllable had actually made it past his lips.
The only reason he was aware of something cutting into his neck was the trail of red that was marking a small pathway against the stark fabric of his shirt. The dark suit and tie that usually accompanied the white-collared look were missing, but he couldn’t remember why.
His brother’s name seemed to drop soundlessly into the dark space before him. Everything felt heavy. Dull. Maybe he was dreaming.
But dreams shouldn’t smell of dust and abandonment. They shouldn’t be framed by cobwebs and wallpaper so aged that their floral design has faded into funeral bouquets. They shouldn’t have flickering candlelight and robed figures looking down on you.
No, dreams shouldn’t be like that.
But Winchesters don’t have dreams. They have nightmares. Sam smile
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