I Miss Autumn. I Miss Short Days And Long Nights. I Miss The Stars. I Miss Chunky Scarves And Knitted

does it ever just hit you that, like, woah, i am a bundle of blood and organs and gold and stardust held together by skin and sunburn and scars and i exist with billions of other bags of skin in this silly little society on this silly little rock in this silly little universe that is impossibly massive and i am impossibly teeny tiny in the grand scheme of humanity, and humanity is impossibly teeny tiny in the grand scheme of everything and everyone and everything i know will be reduced to dust and ashes in a blink and there is nothing i can do to prevent the constant and omnipotent advance of time-

and then you're just like damn okay and go back to doing your silly little human business

inside you are two wolves. one is diet coke heart-shaped sunglasses vintage diners red nail polish lollipops soft ice-cream knee-high socks lipstick stains girl blogger. the other is black coffee rainy weather turtlenecks secret history notes app poetry hand-held vhs camera autumn cable-knit sweaters tote bag thrift stores chunky rings.

i’d rot with you too, if i could

tumblr post by @girlhorror​ / revenge by xxxtentacion / the lovers of valdaro / lazarus rises (amongst other things) by @icaruspendragon​ / mahmoud darwish / gravestone of james robert irwin and millie michaels irwin / wuthering heights by emily brontë

what the FUCK do you mean not everyone percieves me the same way I do?????? what about all my efforts trying to appear mysterious and hot and perfect and interesting?????????? what am I supposed to do now, exist without the self-imposed burden of constantly orchestrating my every action to fulfil a specific outwards portrayal????????????

if i had a penny for every fictional hedonist called henry that is possibly probably gay for their best friend and ruined their lives/the lives of others 'for the aesthetic' i would have three pennies, which isn't much, but it's weird that it's happened thrice

i find it so charming that so many ancient civilisations - if not most of them - believed in gods of some sort. like, the world was so inexplicably incredible that, to them, it could be the work of nothing but the divine.

baroque in the 21st century

am i more productive at nighttime or am i so choked with responsibility and duty during the day that my free time is now only ever available to me when in exchange for a sacrifice of tomorrow's wellbeing? (because apparently revenge nighttime procrastination is an actual thing??)

it's just me and my overly intricate daydream plot against the world

for the second time my hopes of having a tasteful, respectable spotify wrapped this year have been dashed by josh groban playing the titular character of a historical musical based on a piece of old literature in which he is a sad lonely guy in a toxic relationship and at odds with society (and there's a failed elopement)