Being in a relationship with me is pretty good except for the part where I need to be reassured every forty minutes that you do actually love me and this isn’t some weird extended practical joke
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concept: me, 10 years from now, living in a pretty house with my love, sipping a hot cappuccino on a rainy autumn afternoon. our dog curls up next to me in the window bench while our cat snoozes on the bed. i’m financially stable and i’m never tired anymore. the bees are safe.

