being an adult is just saying to yourself “this is the weekend i’ll clean my [x]” and then proceeding to not do that because it’s the weekend and you deserve to relax, goddamnit
can someone please be proud of me like fuck I’m trying
reblog to let prev know you’re proud of them
subtle intimacy is so soft. knowing someone’s routine and slowly becoming a part of it. memorising favourite teas and soups and drink orders. good morning and good night texts and messy paragraphs of love written half asleep. nicknames only you know. just small things that say “look how dear you are to me.”






