If ever I am overly nice to you and compliment you and give you gifts, that isn’t me flirting. When I exhibit how much I remember about you or tell you how much I admire you, it isn’t flattery. When I sacrifice my time and effort to make you happy and willingly let you use me over and over again, that isn’t me trying to get in your pants. I probably don’t even find you attractive.
It is me hoping to make you, a fellow human being, smile; and possibly, just possibly, be the one friend that sees through my veil.

When I actually am flirting with or flattering you, you will know by the even-more-intense awkwardness that makes it unbearable to be around me. :P

I love being able to say everything on tumblr that I wouldn’t dare say anywhere or to anyone else.

Anonymous asked:

Have you got more from your book(or perhaps a poem or anything-ANYTHING). I just love your writings so far, and wanna see more!:)

"I won’t lie to myself and say that one day the tables will be turned. We’ll drift further and further apart until eventually months and then years will pass without me crossing your mind. Perhaps one day, ten, twenty, fifty years from now, the reminiscing of a fond memory will recall my existence and you’ll say, ‘He was a good kid. I wonder how life treated him.’ In the meantime, I’ll be wondering how you treated life."

Reveal your identity and I’ll send you a poem. :P

Knowing that you’re literally addicted to a certain human being is such a desparate and guilty feeling.
I get high on my drug’s voice. Its eyes haunt me at night and the withdrawals are endless and excruciating.
Forget meth. People are dangerous.

"To say it with cliché, she ‘broke his heart.’ A funny expression really. To ‘break a heart.’ Even now, some twenty years later, his head aches from overthinking every word that was said and every memory crossed by his senses. His eyes weigh heavy in the wake of snotty and tearful sleeplessness, his arms and legs lay still, refusing to defy gravity until reason is found to do so. His fists are still stained with the same blood that can be found in the wall’s dents, and his lungs release nothing more than miserable jibberish. Funny how they called it heartbreak. His heart maintained its usual beat the entire duration of his death and for decades afterwards."

- From my upcoming book. Seriously guys, if what I write isn’t crap, then press that little heart button thingy. Or else I’m going to think it’s crap. I’m not seeking notes.. I just want to figure out what my audience prefers and what I need to work on. Also, feel free to send in harsh criticism by ask. Thanks.





You know whats annoying? That it’s normal to know everything there is to know about football and know every players name and know the scores and dress up for games etc but god forbid someone knows all the actors of lord of the rings names and dresses up as a character for comic con, thats just SAD.