The officer was walking around the morgue for whatever reason when the lights started flickering and one of the doors started slamming violently.
From the backseat of the car, love looks like a routine of stealing kisses at a stoplight, sharing bold, burning sight, laughing, panting, craving, shouting, fighting, crying.
You know, everyone thinks it’s the first person you love that’s the hardest, it’s not.
Maybe we’re too scared. Scared of falling so hard that we forget how to breathe. Scared of loving too hard. Of wanting too much. Maybe we are all cowards. Cowards who say they believe in love, but run the second it comes our way.
I have a tendency to overreact. I think situations are worse than they are, because my mind only sees things in black and white. There isn’t a gray area.
There’s a psychological explanation behind why thunderstorms are actually great for alleviating your anxiety.
20 years of my life, tired, worn out, but not defeated. I’m broken, but not beyond repair.
There is no number of slammed doors or angry words that cue the end.
Modern day feminists just want a balance – a mix of being treated like a princess, while treating you like a prince.
Maybe now is the right time for you to completely open a different chapter of your life.