enemies to lovers but with myself
sure, I don’t get a “healthy” amount of sleep like SOME PEOPLE do but can they do THIS *stands up, blacks out for a second*
“The cage is open. You can walk out anytime you want. Why are you still in there?”
Heather Havrilesky
i love when a character has something terrible happen to them and as a result they see themself as, essentially if not literally, a ghost. and so that means they only can (and have to) do what ghosts do, ie get revenge and then cease to exist. easy as that. but then halfway through this ghost vengeance they realize hey actually i might still be a human person. with human needs. that’s incredibly inconvenient, considering how much i’ve invested in this whole ghost thing
c!badboyhalo and the bloodvines for anon
dendrite, ashley blanton | the center of a prayer, tara bray | muscadine vine one, kate roebuck | in the pines (penguin poets), alice notley | helion, wout werensteijn
the bad news is that no feeling is final. the good news is that no feeling is final. hope this helps
i want to live.
jonathan safran foer, extremely loud and incredibly close || sylvia plath, the bell jar || robert frost, the road not taken || t.s. eliot, the love song of j. alfred prufrock || everything everywhere all at once || doc luben, love letters or suicide notes || wikipedia || john greenleaf whittier || hamilton: the musical, who lives who dies who tells your story || mary oliver, the summer day || carlos ramirez, the fig tree
It’s always “why did you commit regicide” and “your covered in blood” and never How was the treason The treason looked fun was it fun
*seductively* doomed by the narrative all by yourself, handsome?
*reveals traits that foil yours* Not for long.
you are not unloveable you are just sad and a little bit angry. let’s go have some soup
“It’s a strange grief… to die of nostalgia for something you never lived.“”
— Alessandro Baricco (via transcendent-sol)
“Just because the sharpness of the sadness has faded does not mean that it was not, once, terrible. It means only that time and space, creatures of infinite girth and tenderness, have stepped between the two of you, and they are keeping you safe as they were once unable to.”
— Carmen Maria Machado, In the Dream House
pussy from a man who’s constantly on the edge of losing his mind