Running Away To Some Dilapidated Georgian Mansion In The Moors To Persure My Writing Career And Slowly

feeling a little goofy, might take part in an ancient ritual in the middle of a forest with a group of insufferable greek students and accidentally kill a farmer whilst in a state of pure enlightenment, idk

me: finds intelligence hot

also me: unconditionally and furiously despises anyone who is even slightly better than me at anything

yes girl you are so [if i loved you less i might be able to talk about it more] [hands are unbearably beautiful] [i'll take care of you it's rotten work not to me not if it's you] [if you are intolerable let me be the one to tolerate you] [i could recognise him by touch alone] [i love you i want us both to eat well] [on purpose i love you on purpose] [whatever our souls are made of his and mine are the same] [i am half agony half hope] [you have bewitched me body and soul and i love love love you] [he is half of my soul as the poets say] [i'm sick of people saying that love is all a woman is fit for but i'm so lonely] [i love you most ardently] [let me stay tender hearted despite despite despite] [someone has to leave first this is a very old story there is no other version of this story] [mostly i want to be kind] [tell me how all this and love too will ruin us] [you said i killed you haunt me then] [someone somewhere can you understand me a little love me a little] [i will love you as misfortune loves orphans as fire loves innocence and as justice loves to sit and watch while everything goes wrong] [sorry about the blood in your mouth i wish it was mine] [who will come into my kitchen and be hungry for me] can we kiss now

"self-care," i whisper to myself for the fifth that day as i create a new pinterest board to save my silly little pictures to instead of acknowledging the ever-growing pile of revision looming on my consciousness

i don't want a hot girl summer, i want to go and live in a crumbling, weather-worn lighthouse on the edge of a remote scottish town and wear turtlenecks and cableknit sweaters and and own a big shaggy dog and speak just a little too fondly of my late husbands mysterious death (i totally killed him) and knit scarves in the ruddy light of a mottled oil lamp and clutch a mug of hot tea whilst a storm pelts bullets of icy rain against the glass and-

hot girls be like 'my comfort characters 🤗💐💕' then name the most deranged and psychopathic dredges of humanity who have never felt an ounce of comfort in their life

lost is a lovely place to find yourself

- micheal faudet

hate when folk call the Sun “our nearest star” no you dweebs that’s OUR STAR! After everything she's done for you and you want to compare her to some lightyears away ass nobody called some shit like Guncho 785B? We're not spinning eternally around any old ball, we’re three deep in the window on board the Sol Train and she did NOT provide the catering, the itinerary and all the fuel to share credit with some two-bit Proxima Centauri hack. point to these nuts in a constellation while you're at it. i love the sun

'spit' being the past tense of 'spit' doesn't sit right with me.