Swallowed a falling star
I've learned some things in the past couple of days.
There is nothing at all wrong with having eight year-old clones of your ex-apprentice wait on you hand and foot.
Creepyass scarecrows that move on their own and follow you around in the middle of nowhere totally don't want to eat your flesh.
Truly emo kids don't write angsty poetry in their journals. They sit in front of the fireplace and secrete mucus.
Cleaning the bathroom means never having to say you're sorry for switching the Pantene with Prell.
The black ooze coming out of the walls is not after you.
Ginormous gaping holes can be hidden with curtains.
Pretending to be your love interest's mother is perfectly okay and does not suggest that he has deep-seated mental problems.
The best presents are the ones you have to pass through transdimensional portals to get to.
The people in the city market will not notice you walking in midair fifty feet above their heads.
If your mother drops by and finds that you have inexplicably aged a good seventy years or so in a matter of days, she will express momentary mild concern before changing the subject.
Hat shops need to come equipped with high-voltage barriers around the doors. They should be set to activate at closing time. Anyone not entering the shop with a key will be flambéd.
The laws of aerodynamics are all lies.
When you know he wouldn't disguise himself as a pigeon because he's "too flamboyant," it's time to accept his vanity and move on.
When he redecorates the entire house, adds a second bathroom, and buys you new clothes that look better than anything you have ever bought yourself, it's time to accept that he's more flaming than his fire demon and move on.
Nothing says "I love you" like an entire Alpine meadow.
Replacing someone's heart is not at all difficult or dangerous and will not lead to months of therapy to help him cope with his emotions again.
Rings are more than just jewelry. They can also be used to put on nifty laser shows.
Flashbacks solve everything.
Take a bow.
There is nothing at all wrong with having eight year-old clones of your ex-apprentice wait on you hand and foot.
Creepyass scarecrows that move on their own and follow you around in the middle of nowhere totally don't want to eat your flesh.
Truly emo kids don't write angsty poetry in their journals. They sit in front of the fireplace and secrete mucus.
Cleaning the bathroom means never having to say you're sorry for switching the Pantene with Prell.
The black ooze coming out of the walls is not after you.
Ginormous gaping holes can be hidden with curtains.
Pretending to be your love interest's mother is perfectly okay and does not suggest that he has deep-seated mental problems.
The best presents are the ones you have to pass through transdimensional portals to get to.
The people in the city market will not notice you walking in midair fifty feet above their heads.
If your mother drops by and finds that you have inexplicably aged a good seventy years or so in a matter of days, she will express momentary mild concern before changing the subject.
Hat shops need to come equipped with high-voltage barriers around the doors. They should be set to activate at closing time. Anyone not entering the shop with a key will be flambéd.
The laws of aerodynamics are all lies.
When you know he wouldn't disguise himself as a pigeon because he's "too flamboyant," it's time to accept his vanity and move on.
When he redecorates the entire house, adds a second bathroom, and buys you new clothes that look better than anything you have ever bought yourself, it's time to accept that he's more flaming than his fire demon and move on.
Nothing says "I love you" like an entire Alpine meadow.
Replacing someone's heart is not at all difficult or dangerous and will not lead to months of therapy to help him cope with his emotions again.
Rings are more than just jewelry. They can also be used to put on nifty laser shows.
Flashbacks solve everything.
Take a bow.