#315.
It's the worst thing in the world. When you're out in the city with your boyfriend at eight thirty at night, zero permission or approval from the rents. And as you're crossing at Flinder's station, your mums boyfriend's nephew and princey happen to see you with his arm around your neck. I swear to God it is the fucking worst thing in the whole fucking world. And I am actually scared for my dear life tomorrow when I have the face the two, along with the mother and her boyfriend. Support?


But then again, last night was good. Got back at like, eleven thirty, scared out of my mother fucking wits. Had a brilliant time just sitting by the Yarra with you and singing to good music. And talking about things. :) Going to go to work to work off the karma now. Have a brilliant day, anyone who's reading. :D




This is what it looked like, I swear to God, so fucking pretty. Walking back to Flinders hand in hand with you at like, eleven was the loveliest thing. :)

Hello, this is Tien. This blog is the remains of the unconventional cliches and angsty phrases of my teenage years. (Plus a new one every now and then)
I ♥ Phoenix, (500) days of summer, double entendres, unmade beds, autumn, Chopin, syncopated melodies, G7 chords and things that make me feel.

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