🌼🌱Dresses made out of real flowers and foliage🌱🌼
Credit : midsummer__k on ig.
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there isn't a single sugar in my body that doesn't live and die for birthdays–both mine and my beloved's and i won't dare to pretend to be saint enough to paint the gruelling bansky lie of anti-materialism i love buying gifts as much as i love getting them so naturally every year, just when my birthday is pushing the last half-moon of the orbit, my whole family is plunged in the pool of 'what are you getting me?' questions and truth be told, more than getting gifts, it's the anticipation of bits and pieces of my beloved's hearts tasteful in fancy second-hand wrapping paper that every hair on my arm stands up for
im the first of my generation on both sides' of my parents and ive been ruthlessly loved and pampered my whole life i sometimes feel like the gratitude i have for every ounce of love in the sloppy kisses and head massages and manifold fables and extra mouthfuls of rice is not as plain to the eye as it should be not as striking as the slopes of age they are climbing towards whatever is beyond this realm
ive already admitted guilt to not being a saint and my family would agree; the teenage tantrums and the more easily available short temperedness resulting in death sentences of silent treatments to which there is no logical reason
i want to be kinder to those who have taught me kindness
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