the painful

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See, that’s what the app is perfect for.

Sounds perfect Wahhhh, I don’t wanna
fruitygellybelly
badjokesbyjeff

There was an old man who lived by a forest. As he grew older and older, he started losing his hair, until one day, on his deathbed, he was completely bald. That day, he called his children to a meeting…

He said, “Look at my hair. It used to be so magnificent, but it’s completely gone now. My hair can’t be saved. But look outside at the forest. It’s such a lovely forest with so many trees, but sooner or later they’ll all be cut down and this forest will look as bald as my hair.”

“What I want you to do…” the man continued. “Is, every time a tree is cut down or dies, plant a new one in my memory. Tell your descendants to do the same. It shall be our family’s duty to keep this forest strong.”

And so they did. Each time the forest lost a tree, the children replanted one, and so did their children, and their children after them. And for centuries, the forest remained as lush and pretty as it once was, all because of one man and his re-seeding heirline.

FRUITGELLYBELLY YOURE ALIVE
inkskinned
nosebleedclub

Museum of

inkskinned

museum of weird personalities. museum of talking slow on a sunday. museum of wiggling in excitement. of little toy trains handpainted and arranged on a to-scale platform complete with little trees. museum of the obscure animal names you learned while you couldn't sleep. of sewing pockets into things. of humming. of dressing wildly. museum of not knowing when to join in a conversation. of not being sure if you even like me. museum of talking too fast or too loud. of being too annoying. museum of missed opportunities. of being late. of up-all-night-crying. of begging yourself to please fucking get it together. museum of all the appointments you were supposed to make. museum of hyperfixation. of the one food you could eat every day and still be happy to consume. museum of colored glass and winespills and cartography. of blending in. museum of masks, of the people you've been. museum of learning how to be a real person like hopscotch squares; body shaking, 1-2-3 go, doubledutch jobs and school and wanting more. museum of board games and anime and real-play podcasts and obsessed-with-fantasy. museum of the books you devoured in middle school, museum of every copy of dragonology, museum of esoteric autobiographies. museum of the joy of being unusual. of barefoot on moss and running your hands through the rock section in a giftshop and needing to cut the tags on your clothes off. museum of leaving the party early and of little birds singing and of full-moon wolfgirl howling. museum of rabbitfur and filling a room with laughter and claymation. museum of pizza rolls and lunchables and just white bread and a single slice of baloney. museum of telling stories. museum of the divine power in our creative forces. of gift giving. of being too much. of loving someone like your blood is a star that burst. of held hands and radio turned up and of belting misery business so loud that your speakers shake. museum of cough drops and advil and dropped calls. museum of wanting to kiss you while we stood in that bedroom and thinking better of it. museum of fucking up. museum of risks. museum of the yellow light captured from every summer where you felt every moment like ah, this is one i'm gonna miss. museum of godspeed. of calling your therapist. of saying i fucking feel like an alien. of pill bottles you are trying to make into an art project. of unfinished works-in-progress. of beautiful, expressive mess.

museum and altar of trying-anyway. museum of - ah, fuck it, i'm here. i might as well stay.