I'm Once Again Fighting The Urge To Fake My Death And Move To A Small City And Open A Little Florist

my kindle watching me unload the five books i bought today 👁👄👁

me buying more books because the ebooks i download “don’t count”

me: *finishes a book*

me: it's time to go on tumblr and reblog every post about the book

i have a whole day planned out for myself. art museum. second hand bookstore. barnes and nobles. poke.

i’m about to go feral on the streets i’m so excited

I like how the only times I go on tumblr is to recover from books that mentally destroyed me

absolutely love using the term partner

business partner?

lover?

partner in crime?

good cop bad cop?

all the above

I just want to be a little hobbit living daily life in the golden days of the Shire. Newly plucked flowers decorating my curly hair, picking vegetables from the garden to place in my basket, a fresh, warm pie cooling on the counter, and wandering the hillsides in my bare feet…what a dream that would be…

Bitches be like I have so much to do but end up laying on bed listening to wildest dreams (Taylor's version) while creating fake scenarios in my head. I am bitches.

“I am homesick for a place I am not sure even exists. One where my heart is full. My body loved. And my soul understood.”

— Melissa Cox

my tumblr isn't even a blog, it's just a hideous amalgamation of all my hyperfixations from the last decade.