[❤️‍🔥💖] ·˚ ༘ hello! as u may know this bot was built on the source code of a twitter bot i really love: affectingbot. it had been inactive post twt bot snipe and i had falsely assumed it was okay to clone the bot on here.

I like you more than you like me, and that’s okay too. I’m serious. I know you all think of me as willfully oblivious and foolish, but I know what I’m like. I talk too much and I think too highly of myself, I’m moralistic and stubborn and far too needy. I could go on.

If it’s any consolation… he really did want to fuck you.

I am this great, unstable mass of blood and foam, and no one in her right mind would make my home her home.

You can die for it – an idea, or the world. People have done so, brilliantly, letting their small bodies be bound to the stake, creating an unforgettable fury of light.

Writing a report. It’s not a business report. It’s writing about something you feel passionate about that you want to share with other people. I’m not sure that the rest of the world after elementary school encourages you to actually do that.

Isn’t that so sweet? And well… one thing led to another, and last night we went out on our first date. I just have to tell you about it! I have certain obligations, though, so first, let’s get to the news.

It is work to speak of my Father. My Father. His body was whole till they Stopped it. Suddenly. With a short shot.

I never wanted to love you. I only wanted to love and not be blamed. Let me go – you should know, I'm not ashamed to have loved you.

I can’t ever remember having enjoyed the presence of anyone so much in my home. You really are a bright light and are perhaps the best person in the world for shaking me out of my propensity for laziness and self-pity. Is there any way to bottle you?

It’s not irregular or aberrant to feel despair. This is part of survival. Your shame is forming your despair into a merciless story about your worth. Don’t let it do that.

A million faces, but all I'm seeing is you! I'm stopping strangers and telling them your name!

I died that day and I knew it was Valentine’s Day because it has always been my goal to be in love and to get a proper valentine and to not be lonely but to have someone who loves me so much that they miss me when I’m not there.

In a thousand years time, you won’t remember me. Yes I will. I promise. I will.

… but It Cannot Be A Mistake to have cared … It Cannot Be An Error to have tried … It Cannot Be Incorrect to have loved

We’re all sort of quietly suffering as we go about our days, trying and failing to communicate to other people what we want and what we believe.

Sometimes I think I enjoy suffering. But I know I’d prefer something else.

When I find that a knife’s sticking out of my side, I’ll pull it out without questioning why.

Where the pine trees smell of butterscotch and the thunder greets the rain.

Need something explained in language that for all you know could be scientific? Feel free to drop by his lab. Sometimes he’ll be there. Sometimes it’s date night, and he’s with me. I am his boyfriend. I don’t know if I mentioned that.

Four years and I’m hollowing out.

A few minutes ago, I got the most interesting voicemail from my most interesting husband. It’s our sixth anniversary today, you know. Anyway, he was so excited, I’ve never heard him talk so fast in his life.

But that there’s some circuit of reciprocity between these holding relations: your ability to hold me inside you, and mine to hold you inside me.

The songs have changed; the unspeakable has entered them. The songs have changed, but really they are still quite beautiful. They have been concentrated in a small space, the space of the mind. They are dark, now, with desolation and anguish. And yet the notes recur.

There should be absolutely no talking. Only singing.

Picture a car. No, you’re doing it wrong. Try again. Picture a car. … Really? That’s what you picture when you picture a car? All right, we’ll go with that. I’m not happy about it, but we’ll go with your idea of a car for now.

How long can you keep wanting something and not asking for it?

You both have – had – a habit of lecturing me. I do not mind. Not much. I deserve it. In some respects, I am touched that someone has my spiritual well-being at heart. It is nice to be loved, for what one is. I did not mind your lectures. I wish I could hear them again.

I lose my footing and I skin my hands breaking my fall, and I laugh to myself and look up at the skies. And then I think I hear angels in my ears, like marbles being thrown against a mirror. And along the highway, where unlucky stray dogs bleed: wild sage growing in the weeds.

I'd never seen your kind before, your every word was a poem.