everyone’s grandparents seem to have really cute stories of how they met, and like my grandparents met when my grandma was running away from police during a protest and she jumped on the back of my grandads motorcycle and just screamed “DRIVE FUCKING DRIVE”
I dunno man I think that story’s pretty fuckin cute.
The hardest thing about losing you is that it didn’t just happen once. I lose you every single day that we don’t speak. When I wake up in the morning and reach for my phone and hope to see a message that isn’t there, and when I go to sleep at night after I realise that the only person I want to moan to about how crap my day was, isn’t there. And I lose you in all of the moments in between, in all the hours of silence that go by where I do nothing but think of you, go to call you, and then I don’t. I lose you when I watch certain films, listen to certain songs, and go to certain places that are all tainted with certain parts of you and how you make me feel. And I used to think I could only miss you when I was alone, but that’s not true. I miss you when I’m around everyone else, too. Because they are not you. But you’re always there…somewhere. I can’t not think about you. It’s only when I’m asleep that I get a break from it. From thinking and wanting and missing. But, then I wake up the following day, roll over, check my phone, see that you didn’t call and I just know I’m going to feel it all over again.
they were right. guns don’t kill people. people kill people. people are now illegal and the crime rate is zero