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Literature
satellite
i need a hobby and i need time and i need sleep and i need and i need
thoughts scatter like dust when you blow on it,
always a cloud to choke on-
cleaning involves discomfort, i guess,
and the whirlwind causes an inability to take the next step.
i should be growing beyond the comfortable but even the comfortable is terrifying,
masking anxiety is a powerful skill (until it wears off),
high-strung and short-wired is what broke things
but workaholic and unyielding was the snapping point
i don’t know how to repair a mind.
going to a mechanic shouldn’t end with being laughed out,
constantly convinced the world will flip over,
maybe driving an easily-flipped car is a death sentence,
maybe i should drive slower
but full-speed is to concentrate
slowing down is how to lose everything.
illogical logic-minded
24/7 battle through a day to stay on track,
it’s not simple anymore, is it, it’s not
escaping an obsessive need to be perfect
like chasing a ghost
it’s hard to
:iconmasvida:masvida
:iconmasvida:masvida 3 1
Literature
Can you Hear Me Now?
It makes me feel like an icicle
sharp, ripped, empty
when I get that look—
the can’t-you-try-harder look,
that I-can’t-believe-you’re-not-listening-to-me look,
the I-just-fucking-repeated-myself look,
face full of disgust, a forehead crumpled into sheets of words
that you won’t say,
mostly because you don’t think I’ll hear you
the first time,
fourth time,
the talked-away-from-my-face time.
It’s okay.
Maybe you’re right.
Sick of not being able to walk around without feeling like a tiny bug
smacking into windshield after windshield
after windshield
sound from all sides and all rooms,
too-much-too-much-too-much
I want to curl up and die.
Robotic ears and music translated like the background noise
in a hearing test,
I hate it,
spending too much time singling out your
why-can’t-you-fucking-hear-me yells,
I pass the test only sometimes
just give me another minute to process, please,
please, I’m
too busy buckling under all the
:iconmasvida:masvida
:iconmasvida:masvida 2 2
Mature content
Sparkling :iconmasvida:masvida 2 0
Literature
Magic Tickets
Tuesday September 2nd 2014
I guess that journal entires were made for reading,
never had one that wasn't torn away
and secret-keeping is the worst kind of concept
most nights I stay up racing until I drop out like a knock out
you lose the fight that way
maybe I'm losing mine?
I've been waiting for my boxes
one is full of ways to a high
or a low, I don't know which is which anymore
shame, pain, something like that
everybody seems surprised that I have made it here
nobody seems surprised that I keep hitting walls
my goal is to get good grades
and try not to die
I don't think those are living-type goals,
though,
nobody talks about the middle ground anymore
nobody talks about survival or about bank accounts
that are too empty to try for freedom
I don't know how not to feel tethered anymore
welcome back, welcome back
everything mocks what I have lost
just to return.
:iconmasvida:masvida
:iconmasvida:masvida 1 0
Literature
Halfway Points
My muscles clench and twitch and I can't wake up and I can't fall asleep. They say that it's just a symptom of anxiety, he says he is sorry that I am suffering. Nobody says that I am allowed to fix anything, though, and that's the catch phrase! that wins the game. I am seventeen and I am crying and I am nineteen and I am debating if I need stitches and I am six and I am falling off my bed dreaming about something better, it never comes. The first time your hands reached where hers did, I realized that sometimes I am capable of healing, and the first time her hands touched me I realized that I am very much capable of dying-- we are all lessons learned and learning in creation, I don't think I have mastered the art of figuring out which phase I am in, or if they are different things at all.
I wanted to be something worth reading about.
She tells me that I am making things up for attention, negative attention is attention all the same, isn't it isn't it, ignoring the fists slamming into w
:iconmasvida:masvida
:iconmasvida:masvida 3 2
Literature
Like father Like Son
most of the time we try to forget
I’ve gotten very good at not staring things in the face,
reality versus dreamland, spent seven days sleeping on and off on and off
whole summer dreaming
whole waking hours too tired to kill myself more
than an occasional cigarette, occasional speeding , an occasional drink
I hate being drunk
the fear is good for me, cloudy eyes and messy thinking, slamming into the walls
sleeping in an empty house does things to me
sleeping in a full house makes me regret breathing
most of the time I feel like my life has a fast expiration date.
shoulders are fading faster than my resolve,
but I hate the way his breathing catches when he sees,
like a fast stop light when you’re going ninety,
most of my decisions involve wanting to disappear after I make them,
don’t think anything is right, these days
whirlwind sandstorm of an emotion,
people say that I am bad at asking for help-
I say that I am bad at dealing with reactions,
or feeling like I owe some
:iconmasvida:masvida
:iconmasvida:masvida 3 0
Literature
Guilt Complex
spinspinspinspinspin
twenty-seven drags to finish
too much smoke, hands slapping air, I cannot think
can't think can't think
not supposed to have can't in a poem instead of cannot
it's bad writing
and I forget what the apostrophe words are called
last time I have needles is tomorrow
and no I am not an addict
one week one one one one
who can live with seven days as their deadline
most people recommend breathing exercises
some yell and tell me to be grateful
work harder
argue more clearly,
I am too young to be thrown out
too damn old to be told that i am too young
most of my life has felt like a paradox, and when the stars align
it is laughable and temporary
I believe in ghosts.
When I was fourteen,
I kept waking up to her standing at the end of my bed,
baby dancer, she would ask me when I would come with her
she had been dead for months.
I never told my parents that, but I wonder if she went to their rooms too,
or if this was just a sick form of night terrors
or hallucinations,
sleep-de
:iconmasvida:masvida
:iconmasvida:masvida 3 0
Literature
Gravitational
You make me feel like burning houses,
bruised legs from barely-finished basketball games,
all the soccer-ball-concussions that made my teeth feel like they were filled with the opposite of Novocain—
you are a motherfucking explosion of those sparks at the end of a cigarette,
I can never avoid the end, fingertips grazing hot ashes
you used to tell me stories about how I’d wake up at the slightest sound
you’d crawl out of my room so quietly
now it feels like I have to crawl into your life too quietly.
I was not created to be silent-
I think that some days you forget that I have the right to be
splashed paint all over sweatpants, the sweat soaking my shirt after a good run,
microphones dropped and blaring, I am good and whole and constantly recreated,
there is no such thing as whispering
people are not secrets, we were not born to be hidden away like so many piles of dirty socks when your grandparents visit,
no, you do not understand the amount of force with which my ide
:iconmasvida:masvida
:iconmasvida:masvida 4 2
Literature
Mind with Matter
I spent my transitional years,
(fourteen though seventeen, child to teen, teen to adult,
body recreating and reforming and becoming,)
never wanting any of that.
I need to remember that growing pains are a reminder of the way that we feel
when it is both way too late and way too early, morning and night, the horizon line barely lighter
and we lie alone.
This ache deep beneath the edges of my bones that plagues me as I become
(taller, wider, slimmer, stronger,)
it reminds me that there is still more to do and many things to be,
maybe fourteen was filled with pain but I remember that seventeen was a different kind of deep ache,
and that most of the time that is okay.
Trees crack and splinter over time, sometimes shatter in the cold,
but the forest has always breathed a thank you to those that have fallen to create new soil and new life—
pain is the uncomfortable pathway to growth, this phrase echoes in my head
as I lift ten more pounds than last month,
as I bike ten more miles than
:iconmasvida:masvida
:iconmasvida:masvida 4 2
Literature
Inherited
My days are starting to feel like dead-end wishes
staying in a house that I have never lived in,
her brother’s bedroom
NAVY ACADEMY written over everything,
sweaty nights and cool mornings,
my mother’s alcohol in the desk drawer
cigarettes in my pocket for a later date,
this is the street in my life with the “no exit” sign
released bank account money,
barely enough for three month’s rent on a shitty apartment
and I am constantly drowning in possibilities
bills, unfinished education,
this is every person’s nightmare
my father has always outdone himself,
but this time, I hope he regrets it.
Most days my head feels like foggy morning haze
jumbled thought processes,
adrenaline shooting it into the legibility of a page behind frosted glass,
how many words can you read how many words can you read,
I feel like the day that my mother cried when I couldn’t read anything
left eye gone right eye golden,
family gone friends struggling to be golden
my mothe
:iconmasvida:masvida
:iconmasvida:masvida 3 0
Literature
One Little Request
My mother screams “she is MY daughter!”
as I struggle to explain that my sister deserves the truth,
I don’t know what I deserve, anymore
one time, I slept inside the pipe of the playground
because nobody wanted to play with me
these days, I am not allowed to talk
in case my father gets offended
by the lower octaves,
or my mother’s daughters
question the validity of “she” when it is thrown my way.
My brother silently fist-bumps me
under the table
and it feels illegal.
I am the taboo child, oldest but least mentioned,
they say “oh she’s doing well,
it’s a twelve-hour-drive so don’t visit her
she is not what we say she is, do not reveal our lies”
I am too young to make choices, everyone is saying,
fixed bikes and broken skin, nineteen is not enough of an argument
and she tells me that testosterone is akin to heroin,
I am not addicted I am not dying
fuck you, fuck you, I cannot put my life on hold,
I am not a gerbil in its w
:iconmasvida:masvida
:iconmasvida:masvida 1 4
Literature
Heart Bang Something
My brain feels like the jumbled photograph
pieces I ripped up with I was ten
sorry sorry sorry sorry
everyone tells me to stop apologizing so much
but all I can think about is
what if I didn’t say sorry?
I am nineteen and I remember all of the seventeen year old poems
it’s sad and it is funny
the year of silver and red—
this one has been grey,
ashes out windows and soft evening car rides
amber bottles full of amber liquids,
orange mixed with clear— foggy eyes foggy thoughts
sharp green in your vision and I miss you.
I’m sure that I sound like I am dreaming
these past few weeks, I haven’t been to certian
that I’ve been awake
what happens if we die
and wake up somewhere else?
These are the things that keep my heart pounding
it hasn’t jumped since school ended
no panic attacks since two nights ago
I don’t know, I don’t know
mostly less ripped.
Twenty seven twenty two
I feel like I’ll find something at those ages,
and lately
:iconmasvida:masvida
:iconmasvida:masvida 1 2
Literature
this is/not a safe space
“this is a safe space”
you sent me to a month of christian camp the summer that I came out to you-
a young (gay) scared child
you would think that the (scared) (child) part would come  to mind first,
but it didn’t.
they made me run miles upon miles of hills,
threw bible verses and prayers at me
like it would cure my fear,
or rather, cure the gay out of the (scared) child
i was nothing less than terrified
self hating
i ran with rocks wedged into my shoes
so that they would slash my calves open,
when the boy in my group pointed it out,
i pretended that i was surprised.
most nights i woke up sweating like i was already in hell.
i was, wasn’t i?
“but this is a safe space”
love the sinner, hate the sin,
but I couldn’t separate the “sins” from who i was,
tried to kill myself twice that year
didn’t care when my doctor over-prescribed my anti-depressants
walked around so drugged that I couldn’t think clearly,
couldn’t
:iconmasvida:masvida
:iconmasvida:masvida 2 4
Literature
Reasons Why I will Not Kill Myself Yet
I have been sober for two days this week,
bought a new pack of cigarettes
four am smoking and six am showers, I am not there yet
I am not there yet
I hold too many secrets, internet history
and saved text messages,
my pile of notes are half-hidden in a drawer,
I know my mother has read them
and she ignores it
My father is home every other weekend
sleeps off his plane flights
and high-power meetings
tells me that I need to work for my own happiness
knows full well that I cannot afford it:
The man who sees me for maybe half an hour
a month
tells me that he knows me better,
and I am delusional
and he cannot (will not) help
I refuse to give him the power
of reading my history
or dying the girl
that he has told me I am supposed to be,
i am working for a doctor's scars
kissed by the boy that I am not ready to leave
spend my nights full of halfway-to-hell pills
so that I can forget how to breathe
but wake up for another chance
at burying my regrets
I am not there yet.
:iconmasvida:masvida
:iconmasvida:masvida 3 0
Literature
Drunk Test
There is a very fine line between fucked up and barely functioning
and I am losing my balance,
a walk-the-line test that I always pass
simply because I can't get drunk
or lose control.
I have spent seventeen nights
staring at a pill bottle
twelve evenings
downing the contents of a glass bottle,
tears in front of a mirror, reading
flippant replies from lost friendships--
he has everything that I still need
pretends that I can stand another year of waiting
spent that night screaming "fuck you!" at a tiny screen,
because he only had nine months of conscious hell
and I still want to drown myself in air
and alcohol,
my grandfather has a point--
nobody likes reality.
:iconmasvida:masvida
:iconmasvida:masvida 2 6
Literature
twenty seven apologies
I am a caving-in pile of skin and bones and a no-filter mind
self-sabatoge is my strength, and I have spent the last forty-eight hours
wishing that I wasn’t breathing
too many breaths, and three pounds less, and
sometimes I wonder if my mom sees that the scale is still blinking
but never asks, and
I wonder about all the times my friends ask how it’s going
and mostly it is okay, but mostly it isn’t, either,
I don’t know how to cope with the pressure of my own life.
It is balancing on an empty bank account
and a too-full body
too many discrepancies to match up, and
I cried over this once,
you were trying to keep me alive
I still don’t know if I should thank you or curse you;
I just wanted to exit my reality
even though we were just beginning.
:iconmasvida:masvida
:iconmasvida:masvida 2 1

Favourites

Literature
schizophrenia?
psychology defines schizophrenia
as an impairing, delusional disorder
borne in the person’s inexorable inability
to tell right from wrong,
hopeless fantasy from harsh reality,
or even suspicion from acceptance
but aspen is a lovely, flexible woman
with names of imperial animal races
that never belonged to them,
with the countless colors of her eyes that
she makes up with named numbers
written in cursive sharpie on her palms
she takes pills that seem to
dampen & take away those charming
things she always says to me;
the voices don’t haunt or tease her,
they’ve always respected the way she
counted with willpower & the way she lived
psychology defines schizophrenia
as a disorder in which one cannot escape
their head long enough to
stop the thoughts of self-destruction,
to halt the onset of war on their
bodies as the asphalt hits their head
but aspen is a star amid the wreckage
when she asks you to hold her
until she can’t hear the bad numbers
crunching her ears int
:iconcrooked-clockwork:crooked-clockwork
:iconcrooked-clockwork:crooked-clockwork 699 211
Digital foetus by DestructionAbsurde Digital foetus :icondestructionabsurde:DestructionAbsurde 733 176
Journal
So
It has been three weeks I think.... since I almost killed myself.  I drove off but she wouldn't let me take the bottles of pills.  I drove in circles and circles.  I don't know why I finally decided to go back.  I think it was the right choice though.  It took an old friend to convince me.
 
I can not tell you how raw your soul feels in the hours after that.  Knowing you are so far gone that you will take that kind of leap.  Everything feels like sandpaper and every millimeter of you is ready to fall apart.  I don't know why I didn't.  I just spent a lot of time crying and ditched class without saying.
 
I'm still a newborn to this kind of thing.  I'm still a newborn to love too but that's ok cause we learn together all the time.  Its been a year already, and I feel like things are just getting started.  I hope that's true, because we're about to be apart for a while.
 
What are things that have knocked you down
:icontsubame-33:tsubame-33
:icontsubame-33:tsubame-33 1 3
Literature
mascara
i don't know why i wear mascara when it always ends up on my cheeks by night.
the moon is full but i am not. i'm hungry but it's mostly my eyes. i want to eat the city and the lights, swallow stars and coins in the fountains.
instead i'm alone in my apartment, with no glass but small windows facing the brick walls of my neighbours. i am empty except for the bricks which weigh heavily and hollowly at once. i swallow nothing but city air and exhaust, fumigating my lungs in hopes of eradicating the lacke thereof.
i am full of tears that were locked up since i was sixteen, pressurised in the marrow of my bones to the point of begrudging congestion. bitterness is what makes eyelashes grow-- there should be no surprise that i can't see.
:iconohsostarryeyed:ohsostarryeyed
:iconohsostarryeyed:ohsostarryeyed 39 6
Literature
Starving sleep and apologies.
My sleep is starving.
It is shivering sweat like snow
across my shoulders as I sob scream
after scream against your skin;
"sorry, I'm so sorry,
go back to sleep."

I am sad
and struggling to stay
together but you slump
against my sickness
and hold me
anyway.
:icontrembling-knees:trembling-knees
:icontrembling-knees:trembling-knees 44 16
Colored pencils by takmaj Colored pencils :icontakmaj:takmaj 4,679 868 Scar Cover-up = SUCCESS!!! by Numbaholic13 Scar Cover-up = SUCCESS!!! :iconnumbaholic13:Numbaholic13 38 0
Literature
moscow, russia
i drink vodka because my boy
is going to russia
and i am still home
i drink but not by myself
though we both feel like we are
alone
anyway
i drink because i am sad
so infinitely sad that i can count
every star that has gone out
from my smile and eyes
i am
more or less
likely less
a seasick child
i am stuck on a boat
that is stuck at sea
and words stuck in my throat
the muteness
the wordlessness
the only sounds i feel from songs-
that is what reminds me
that death is temporary
but that quick fixes
feel like the best kind.
:iconohsostarryeyed:ohsostarryeyed
:iconohsostarryeyed:ohsostarryeyed 49 19
Literature
i've gotten a military letter
i've gotten a military letter.
we're not together anymore
but the way my stomach
undulates its tides
tells me i'm worrying as much
as your mother.
in a month,
you aren't home but you can
be touched-
i am trembling like autumn's last leaf
while caught in the interim.
i have two hearts in my hands,
frozen as your late january ponds
in fear of holding too close.
i tell boys at parties
that i'm very good
at not breaking things-
i lie.
i will hold onto drunken cups,
vodka and glass,
but i drop hearts-
yours, his, my own-
like water in fingers.
seeing you again
will stir up oceans,
send floods over the levees
and,
foetal,
i will weather the storm
unfurl my legs
and finally know
where i stand.
:iconohsostarryeyed:ohsostarryeyed
:iconohsostarryeyed:ohsostarryeyed 33 15
Literature
lovedrunk
she looks at me, all big doe eyes and cupid-bow lips, tells me, now i'm not trying to say i'm about to kill myself, but i'm about to kill myself.
the traffic light is glass.  not that it's reflective, not that it's bright, but that it's so slow, a liquid, moving like a year.  it's also what my blood has become with these words.
we're in my car but i'm scared.  i know i'm the one behind the wheel, but i don't know what she's got in her purse.  i don't know her name but i do know she's drunk.  so am i.  i know we shouldn't be driving but i couldn't leave such sad eyes at a bar.  i guess, if i'm being entirely honest, i also couldn't leave such a beautiful body at a bar, either.  especially if some guy with worse intentions than i couldn't pass her up.
talk to me, i say.  i don't glance up from the road because i'm scared of what i'll see, and what i won't.
you're not my fucking therapist, she tells me.  i know she's wearing red lipstick and i imagine it turns to venom with those words.  
:iconohsostarryeyed:ohsostarryeyed
:iconohsostarryeyed:ohsostarryeyed 75 54
Mature content
restriction :iconohsostarryeyed:ohsostarryeyed 58 26
Lucid Dreaming by mr-boonshine Lucid Dreaming :iconmr-boonshine:mr-boonshine 38 10
Mature content
not sick enough :iconohsostarryeyed:ohsostarryeyed 41 0
Literature
Below Freezing.
    Last night was the night when the temperature had dropped well below what it was meant to. My shoulders had followed that same pattern and dropped almost as quickly as those words came out of your mouth. You told me you had to go, you spoke softly and apologetically. You swore you never had meant to waste so much of my time. I didn't have much to say, I didn't really have to, my hands were shaking and I could feel my lips trembling, and the chills I had weren't from the cold. They were from moments, just moments that I had remembered, moments that we would never have again.
    I sat there for a long while, you didn't say anything and I didn't either. You were looking away, towards your car. I watched the uneven breaths you took, in and out; they only stayed alive for moments at a time, courtesy of the chill in the air. That was kind of always how I saw myself, alive only in the moments you would look at me and I knew that you loved me. That’s how I’ll remember you, you
:iconlivesofbirds:livesofbirds
:iconlivesofbirds:livesofbirds 7 6
Literature
Strength.:
I have a theory;
Those who choose to eat are weak.
But I don't feel strong.
:iconBirdy-Bones:Birdy-Bones
:iconbirdy-bones:Birdy-Bones 5 0

Activity


i need a hobby and i need time and i need sleep and i need and i need
thoughts scatter like dust when you blow on it,
always a cloud to choke on-
cleaning involves discomfort, i guess,
and the whirlwind causes an inability to take the next step.

i should be growing beyond the comfortable but even the comfortable is terrifying,
masking anxiety is a powerful skill (until it wears off),
high-strung and short-wired is what broke things
but workaholic and unyielding was the snapping point
i don’t know how to repair a mind.

going to a mechanic shouldn’t end with being laughed out,
constantly convinced the world will flip over,
maybe driving an easily-flipped car is a death sentence,
maybe i should drive slower
but full-speed is to concentrate
slowing down is how to lose everything.

illogical logic-minded
24/7 battle through a day to stay on track,
it’s not simple anymore, is it, it’s not
escaping an obsessive need to be perfect
like chasing a ghost
it’s hard to hide yourself.

deviantID

masvida
mac
United States
If you knew me...

You'd know that I hate speaking in english because I never know the right things to say, and maybe it makes it sound a little less wrong if it's in another language that you can't understand. You'd know that I love the feel of syllables rolling off my tongue like water falls off a waterfall. That's probably why I talk so fast, for the feel of it and not so you'd ever understand what I'm saying.
[I whisper my secrets because they hurt to tell]

You'd know that I think that looking up into the sky makes me feel like I'm falling up and I never did like falling, so I don't look up. You'd know that dreaming is skyward and so I've forgotten how to dream. That's probably why I get so frustrated with your high hopes for the future, because I prefer to keep my feet planted firmly on the ground, but you're flying with your hopes and I'm losing sight of you.
[I ripped out my wings so I can't fly]

You'd know that I believe that love is both the most healing and deadly thing in the world, because it can break hearts (incurable) and heal them (impossible). You'd know that I wish that I can somehow get the cure for my shattered heart, without the danger of breaking again. That's probably why I'm so jealous of those who've managed to avoid the whole business of getting hurt and having to live in a state of brokenness.
[I've lost hope for myself, because I've forgotten how to love]

You'd know that I never liked going to funerals, because that's when I feel the least alive and living becomes a myth. You'd know that that's when I remember that I have a heart, and having a heart hurts way too much sometimes. That's probably why I never listen to it; I ignore my heart because half the time it only results in the kind of pain that you can't stop with medication.
[I try to forget about the other half of the time]

Personal Quote: Live.
Interests
Hello!

So this is about tattoos. Obviously. While I don't have any quite yet, I am definitely getting these quotes from two incredible people tattooed onto me:

"where some try to trap you, many more are working to set you free" -Paige B.
"...and he was happy" -Kelsey R.

These were huge for me, during a very tumultuous time period of my life (about when this account started) and I cannot erase those impactful words or people. :)

However, I've always wanted poetry tattooed, be it lines or full poems, and maybe even my own words. The issue is that I really don't know/remember what I love about many writings, and maybe you guys can help. 

What poetry do you love? What lines? Whose work? Is it your own work? 

Do you have any tattoos?

Please do tell, be it via message or comment, and please link to the poem/prose you are talking of!

And happy 2014 :)

-Mac


  • Listening to: My eardrums

Comments


Add a Comment:
 
:icontsubame-33:
tsubame-33 Featured By Owner Nov 27, 2013  Hobbyist General Artist

hello there, darling

 

its been so long and you're still so beautiful.

 

just wanted you to know... I still love the ways your poetry pull things out of me and make them hurt and kiss me.

Reply
:iconmasvida:
masvida Featured By Owner Nov 27, 2013
hello!

i love you too :)

ugh i love love that sentence. you are wonderful. thank you.
Reply
:iconintricately-ordinary:
intricately-ordinary Featured By Owner Jan 9, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
Thank you for the fave! :iconkawaii-laplz:
Reply
:iconmasvida:
masvida Featured By Owner Jan 10, 2013
Absolutely!
Reply
:iconlittle-man13:
Little-man13 Featured By Owner Dec 18, 2012
Hey I saw your work and i wanted to invite you to my group :)

[link]
Reply
:iconmasvida:
masvida Featured By Owner Dec 19, 2012
Cool, I went to it
Reply
:iconmelodysnow:
melodysnow Featured By Owner Nov 1, 2012
Thank you so much for the fave! <3
Reply
:iconmasvida:
masvida Featured By Owner Nov 2, 2012
Anytime!
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:icontsubame-33:
tsubame-33 Featured By Owner Sep 24, 2012  Hobbyist General Artist
gasp! thank you, so, so, much for the watch! :tighthug:

and i hope you're having a good day today. or at least a few good minutes, breaths, and thoughts.
i love you! :hug:
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:iconmasvida:
masvida Featured By Owner Sep 25, 2012
No problem! :] I hope you do too! :hug:
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