I walk around the school hallways and look at the people. I look at the teachers and wonder why they’re here. If they like their jobs. Or us. And I wonder how smart they were when they were fifteen. Not in a mean way. In a curious way. It’s like looking at all the students and wondering who’s had their heart broken that day, and how they are able to cope with having three quizzes and a book report on top of that. Or wondering who did the heart breaking. And wondering why. Especially since I know that if they went to another school, the person who had their heart broken would have had their heart broken by somebody else, so why does it have to be so personal.

Stephen Chbosky, The Perks of Being A Wallflower   (via de-licacy)

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likeknots:

Do you ever use a particular pen or pencil in school a lot and you start getting emotionally attached to it and then you lose it and it’s just another reason to be sad during school

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