(Source: nicolefuckingrichie, via bullshitartist)
"You play along,
because you want to die for love,
you always have."
because you want to die for love,
you always have."
— Richard Siken
(Source: horasmortas, via fleurishes)
(via fleurishes)
(via daiseas)
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People have been so stupid lately — living out their lives as if they were stories, as if this created art is worth the destruction of their lives. It will never transcend, you know.
I have next to nothing to look forward to anymore. At least nothing concrete. I’ve already tossed aside the novels, and the music, and the friends, and the words. I’m stuck in a limbo where I’m reaching for some sort of zen that even smoking my brains out can’t imitate. That was the unfortunate lesson of last night. I just want to lie with you, in all post-coital feels. When you allowed yourself, for the first time, to reach for me in the night, your painful vulnerability delights me. Look at these tangle of thorns, Nabakov says. Oh boy, I say, you’re in it now. I am no longer carrying the burden of us four alone. How does the mess of our escapism feel? I’ve been there and the slime of it rots in my mind.
I’ve always felt Boston was a city that would breathe new life into me. But increasingly, I’m terrified by the aspect of moving on and starting anew. Just stop. I’m exhausted. Please. Stop. A clock without hands is my kind of time.
And the book says, “We may be through with the past, but the past is not through with us.”
(Source: sestet)
once i told someone i never want happiness
and she said why
and i said because i guess i wouldn’t know what to do with it besides ruin it
and she said but it’s equally problematic living in a state of perpetual ruin just because it feels comfortable and familiar
she didn’t say that last part i made it up
(Source: moonplant, via bullshitartist)
