drunk on the letters i never sent

Bridgerton, Anthony to Kate.

-their hands meet-

-romanticize-

ask girls their comfort show and they'll reply with a serial killer documentary

my whole life revolves around the show i'm currently obsessed with

-expectations-

me chilling in my room, sipping coffee, scrolling on my phone...

my brain for no reason: WHAT IF THERE'S A MURDERER IN THE WINDOW WITH A KNIFE ??!?!?

It's all fun and games until you look in the mirror at the hair salon and try to hold back your sobs as the smiling (assailant, attacker, guilty at hand) barber asks you how your new hair looks and you're just like "oh i looove it." all the while staring daggers at them and sniffing back tears.

the carvings in my door

ask me why i cried like a lost child today

the murals in my dining room

stare at me as i walk by

they ask me where i'm going

i bite back a snarky reply

//-thinking of running away

you don't understand. you will never understand. how it feels like to hate my own self. it's like the dark between my ribs, my heart and bones. it's the blood, so red, flowing beneath my shattered and broken throne. it's me, myself, and noone else, it's lonely and scary, you don't know me as i spit out my own poison at three am, coughing and gagging, miserable and tired. tired of this three layered body i call home.

sooo you're saying y/n means your name and not 'she's everything you'll never be and she has everything you'll never get?'

like hello if it means your name then why do i not have a alpha werewolf bf yet?

//-the holy trinity

recruiting people who want to wear outfits like these and run off to england with me

HOW MANY MORE HINTS DO YOU WANT??

*moved one inch closer to their crush*