witchyseason

gardenias on the tile where it makes no difference who held back from who

i love recognizing patterns, and a pattern can only happen when the past happened (:

but who am i without all the love inside of me / stitched and sewn together by the passing time / to love me is to suffer me

but where is it? what is it?

read a book where the main characters danced to this song every night, and i haven’t stopped thinking of it (i cherish it in my love-above-all playlist)