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YOu bear the unbearable, but how does one do so? how do you continue after losing the great love of your life, or what you thought was going to be? you loved me as certain dark things are meant to be loved, in shadow, in secret, in the deep wells of your soul., - a reply to the long gone imperatives of magnus bane and pablo nerudo

every ounce of muscle in my body is twitching, pulling, moving. I have finished yet another book series and find myself wanting more, more, more. please give me my babies back, my children, the ever lasting loves of my heart. it hurts so badly when the story ends, because i love them so so dearly. It hurts when they leave, as much as it would hurt to have a best friend to move away from me forever. dear God I want them back, want them forever.

i love when my parents or family or honestly anyone looks at someones tattoo and says, who would ever put that on their body and all i can think is me, id do it, because i fuckin love it screw you aunt marjorie

Recently I have loved and lost. But I took up reading again. And I have noticed, not for the first time, that I always feel a sense of sadness, a sense of longing as the story ends, because i want it to continue, to carry on forever. I read the story of these people's lives, and once it comes to a finish, I end up wanting to just read on about them forever. I want to have just boring, mundane scenes of them in their kitchen eating breakfast, going out for dinner, just continuing to love and be loved while I watch from a distance, like a mother whose children have left home. I think that is why I want to be an author so badly, because even though my books end, my mind and my heart will always know what happens next, whether it be they brush their teeth, fall in love, go to school, or pass on into their next life, because they are my children, born of my thoughts, like the goddess Athena from her father's ear. I will always know what happens, which is a true comfort, a solace in my anxiety ridden and mentally ill brain, that I can control their love, loss, emptiness, passing, even if I cannot control mine. And I love it. Not playing God, but being able to make someone truly happy, even if they are fictional and from my own head. I will always love my characters, whether from myself or another writer, because they are a part of me. A part that will follow me and guide me until death. And into life after death. My heart loves infinitely, my loyalty and forgiveness knows no bounds, and so I will carry these two-dimensional souls with me in my own.

Remember thirty minutes ago when I thought I was loved? Lmao IMAGINE

Of course I think Timothée Chalamet is baby why wouldn’t I 

I’m not a furry, I just like Beastars and Zootopia because I was raised on looney toons. No hate tho 

I fucking love Elliot Fletcher I fucking love Elliot Fletcher I fucking love Elliot Fletcher I fucking love Elliot Fletcher I fucking love Elliot Fletcher I fucking love Elliot Fletcher I fucking love Elliot Fletcher I fucking love Elliot Fletcher I fucking love Elliot I fucking love Elliot Fletcher I fucking love Elliot Fletcher I fucking love Elliot Fletcher I fu-

I’m going through a midweek crisis imagine what my midlife one is gonna be like 
          I’ll probably shave my head 

I’m literally talking to myself on here but it’s cathartic