“Four” by Veronica Roth (via dreamcatchers-hopesnatchers)
(via be-brave-to-be-free)
Then she slips her fingers between mine, and I stare at her, startled. I squeeze her hand, lightly, and it registers through my turmoil and my exhaustion that though I’ve touched her half a dozen times - each one a lapse in judgment - this is the first time she’s ever done it back.
Then she turns and runs to catch up with her friends. And I stand in the hallway, alone, grinning like an idiot
my moods:
- i want to make out with you
- i want to kill you
- i am hungry
- i am tired
- why the fuck is my music not playing in my left headphone
(Source: seantracy, via babieblossom)
