♡~lily~♡

I have a new puppy. He's a Golden Retriever, he's 8 weeks old and his name is Indy, after Indiana Jones❤️

Going to Italy tomorrow with school. Cannot wait.

And I cried with the rain. I cried in time to the drumbeats of water hitting my window. I sobbed in sync with the cacophony of drips hitting the pavement under dank streetlights. The rain masked my tears, soothed the sting, washed the pain away down the gutter. Camouflaged my broken heart, keeping it hidden from the prying eyes of the  world. The sound never left my side, the gentle, constant pitter-patter my only source of comfort in the night. It reverberated, echoing off the empty hollows of my skull after it had spent hours lulling me into uneasy sleep. I dreamt hazily of things long forgotten, while the rain kept watch over my ruined soul, as it would for years afterwards.

I read something that really broke me today. "S3lf-h@rming in my room alone........ the same room I played with my Barbies in when life was simpler"

Indiana Jones>>>>>>

I'm realising how inactive I am on Wattpad at the moment. School is taking over my entire life. My great aunt who lives in Arizona passed away yesterday morning, so everyone in the house is really stressed because my mum and her sister have to fly over within the next week for the funeral. We're doing okay. Trying to keep it together. 

Hiii thanks for the follow!!!

Ummmm........ 
          
          I bled through my pants in the middle of 8th period (english) today. But then I walked all the way home with ✨️him✨️ so it was a bit less terrible then. 

What is childhood, if not the paper cuts in the pads of our fingertips that we'd cry about at lunchtimes? What is childhood, if not the splinters that got stuck in our palms from climbing trees we shouldn't have been? What is childhood, if not the thorns from the rose bushes that were embedded in our arms that we'd help each other pull out with tweezers? What is childhood, if not the marks on our knees from the many times we'd fallen and split them open? What is childhood, if not the bruises on our shins that came from soccer balls and tennis rackets? What is childhood, if not the skid marks in the grass where we fell off your bike almost every day? What is childhood, if not the mud buried so deep under our fingernails that we had to use toothpicks to clean it? What is childhood, if not the battle scars of our bodies, the ones we carry with us, as a living reminder, that our happiest days are forever encased in our souls, sewn into our skin, protected forever in our blood?

I promise there will be more updates of things soon, but 3rd year is killing me even though we're barely a week in.