The Gaylor Of It All. 🥹😫

Klossy “What’s Your Dating Symbol?” 2017

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Vogue Best Best Friend Contest 2014

Realistically I could never get rid of tumblr because it gives me the illusion of a community of strange young women all around my same age, all slowly figuring out how to live too

🎃 Imagine this. You are walking through your yard. It's one of your favorite places, all sprawling garden rows and vibrant green grass. There are herbs for cooking and spell casting. There are daisies - so many daisies - in every shade of your rainbow. Up ahead you spot a small cropping of weeds, and set your foot on each stepping stone of the path that leads right to them. The house is a little farther now, but you are still within the confines of your tall and impenetrable fence. Nothing comes through that fence. Not now and not ever. Within it you are safe. Your lover and your fresh baked buns are safe. (The buns, of course, are in the oven turning golden as you speak. It's an old family recipe, jotted lovingly on a recipe card.) You reach the weeds and pluck a dandelion. Caught up in a moment of buoyant childlike whimsy, you make a wish and blow, blow, blow. Hundreds of featherly florets scatter. You laugh. You watch as they ride the breeze, one floret in particular. It drifts and dances like all the others, but as the wind changes direction it swoops over the fence. You lose sight of it, and send a silent apology to whoever ends up with a cropping of dandelions in their yard. Did you know that dandelions don't need to be purposefully planted all at once? All it takes is for one small seed to catch on the breeze, and by then it has spread irreversibly. You'd never know where the initial seed came from, because it has started so small and floated so far. You swallow, staring at the fence. It was you who blew the dandelion in the first place. It was you who ventured too closely to the edge of the garden. It was chance and weather that landed it where it did. You breathe in, and deep and out, expelling the growing anxiety from your body. You turn back to the house. You have those homemade buns to tend to, after all. But as you reach the door you can't help but cast a furtive glance over your shoulder, to the spot where that dandelion floret disappeared. You can never blame someone for the dandelions that sprout in your grass. It’s untraceable and irrelevant. They all come from the same place anyway: a private moment performed too near the property line. Of course the recipient would pluck the weeds so unwittingly planted. Of course they, too, would blow, blow, blow and spread the florets far and wide. Once you blow a dandelion, you never get it back. It isn’t yours anymore. 🎃

Soooo, I’m sure a lot of us have heard You’re Losing Me by now, if not here is a link…

So, like a lot of us here on gaylor tumblr, I have been quite invested in deciding 🎃 anon’s messages. Well, after I heard You’re Losing Me, I had a weird feeling, so I went back to look at the massages. The tagline in the song in Stop, You’re losing me / Stop, You’re losing me / Stop, You’re losing me.

She repeats it three times.

Stop stop stop.

A call back to 🎃 anon’s first message?

Here it is if you want to read over it

I thought of the connection between Stop stop stop, but also the other words that are repeated three times throughout the 11 messages e.g blow, blow, blow (7th message) and human, human, human (10th message).

picture me fingers deep in your ex wife or whatever it was that taylor swift said

so, this is gonna be their thing? 👀

Supporting her wife 😍...

Original 🎃 message

Second 🎃 message

Third 🎃 message

Fourth 🎃 message

Fifth 🎃 message

Sixth 🎃 message

Submission:

Dear 🎃 ,

I was walking the beach tonight and almost tripped over an old wine bottle. I picked it up and examined it, noticing it had been worn down in the waves. “How far had it traveled?” And then it caught my eye - a piece of parchment tucked inside. My heart started pounding with excitement at the discovery! I gingerly removed the cork you’d carefully encased in wax protecting your message. Slowly, patiently, I coaxed the parchment from the bottle. My hands shook as I read your letter. As I scanned each word you wrote, I could feel the empathy and grief filling me from within until it all burst from my eyes. The salt from my tears mixing with the salt of the ocean. I rushed home over the dune with the bottle and message in hand. My heartbeat pulsed in my ears as I tried to slow my thoughts. Clamoring toward my study, I heard my wife calling out from the kitchen, “Is everything ok, dear?!” I flung open my writing desk, pulling out a leaf of parchment. My pen flew across the page - flowing, sloping, swooping - Trying to expel the words I thought you needed. I trusted the pen. I hope it was true. I am returning this message to your bottle with my wax and seal. I hope this finds you in return, but I have a feeling that it will. Sometimes we women just know things...

(Enclosed Message)

Imagine This. A group of people have known your truth for as far back as you started sharing it. They have always been here, and they always will. They often quietly send good energy your way with intentions for peace and protection. For them, you aren’t an anti-hero. Or a selfish asshole…. Or any other negative internal self-talk track that might exist. Imagine you are just seen, supported, and ENOUGH. When you breathe in, imagine taking in all the love and support you need to move forward on whatever path you choose. As you exhale, imagine you breathe out all of the fears of faceless former fans in public outrage. Imagine believing that the universe always takes care of you, and when plans fall apart, it opens opportunities for your growth.

May you, Karlie, and your family find strength together as you prepare to turn the page on this chapter.

Warmly,

A lucky beachcomber

Dear 🎃 - can you give us a hint if Karlie is still part of Taylor's story?

I think their messages about two princesses 👸 👸 makes that pretty clear.

i dont know how people can still stan taylor swift after she ate that sheet metal and spat the shrapnel at that newborn