claud's shoes patter the pavement and stress is no longer known. it's interesting how lips end up twisted together as hands fuse and melt; we cannot differ between infatuation and love that weakens our hearts. our brains are too caught up with marks that end in nines and zeroes, our forearms stained by wood and graphite. irregular verbs and thorny flowers are held in your mouth, as if romantic languages and red pain will ever win me back(they will). broken guitar strings are woven into your scarf and music deflects off of your wounded lips; for all one knows, this is what i've wanted my entire life.
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guess who just finished their exams
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anyways getting to the point: apparently 4chan(I think it's a triggering website, and from the news I've heard it's definitely not good) is going to hack wattpad?? idk. if anything derogatory happens on my account it's not me
