Packing my bags.
Boarding a plane.
Flying to New Zealand.
To breathe freely again.
Packing my bags.
Boarding a plane.
Flying to New Zealand.
To hug him once again.
Packing my bags.
Boarding a plane.
Flying to New Zealand.
To see myself again.
I wish.
To think I was once the only queer who didn’t like Lady GaGa…
My best friend and I are planning out a Bjork ‘Glee’ episode.
Yup, it doesn’t get much queerer than this.
Why does going home throw off everything?
My main goal over the past two years has been to not move home, to not go back to the land of stop lights, restaurants and unearthed drama.
My parents barely like each other, and that tiny town cannot contain my big dreams of working as a full-time photographer.
But then my mom makes me laugh while she reminds me I could always come home. There, I would live rent-free and have a constant support for my dreams.
My tide of patronage here is strong, but it has to go out every time exams end and the bags are packed.
I was left alone when I found out that one of my best friends died; I will be alone again on the upcoming anniversary.
Am I strong enough to handle it this time?
Should I pack up and move to where people actually plan to stay?
I know the answers are yes and no, respectively, but my energy to be the strong one for myself and others is spent—I would not even be thinking about this option otherwise.
Could someone please plug in my charger?
David Tennant and John Barrowman - Comic Con 2009 (x)
This is everything my life is missing.
(Source: wordscanbelikeknifes, via slickdipstick)
Now, I’m standing in the Batcave
sharpen’ up the kung fu for tonight,
minding my own business,
and in storms my butler Alfred,
in a jealous rage.
“You been screwin’ the Robin,”
he says. He was crazy
and he kept screamin’,
“you been screwin the Robin.”
And then he ran into my fist.
He ran into my fist ten times..”
(Source: nothingislinear, via mudbloodfaggot)
