I Think It's Beautiful How Cute We Get When We Are Lonely. Calling Up Our Bestfriend To Talk About Just

okay but what if i tell you i really like watching you read under the sun or in the rain or all curled up in warm duvet in dark winters by the fire or on a train ride back home? what if i tell you i enjoy watching your eyebrows do their little dance when the author throws another plot twist at your face or the way you bite your lips because you really can't wait to know everything about that one character who really is the hero but isn't given enough credit? what if i tell you i see you when you try to hide behind your smile? what if i tell you it's a privilege to love you?

and it pisses me off to not have more than 24 hours in my day. i want to watch every movie that made you feel something, every song that gave you a serotonin boost, every book that broke to make you, every poem that made you fall in love a little more, every fuckin thing you ever laid your eyes on- i want to be a part of that. it pisses me off to not have known you when we both were kids: untainted, innocent, fragile but now that we are older, do you believe me?

i can tell i'm sleep deprived bc i just made myself cry about tutankhamun and i have, like, negative interest in the kid

You ever see a pretty dress, a well-organised notebook, a peculiar balcony or read one line of poetry and get the overwhelming urge to reinvent yourself

entomologists are the most fucking wild people ive ever met

i pointed out a cool wasp to one and she just picked it up with her bare hands and started showing me different features she was using to identify the species

on a walk with another one he just paused, turned, violently shoved his hand into some rotting wood and offered me a tunnel web spider like oh okay i guess-

leave me alone, i am self diagnosing my mental illnesses

idk why this reminds me of the dreams where my lover and i are still together and then i wake up and feel a void so profound within me that it pins me down to my bed and i have to spend all my energy in just the act of getting off it and then spend the rest of the day as a corpse.

How many times do u think achilles woke in the middle of the night to turn over to touch patroclus and wonder why he was so cold before he realized

my heart is fluent in a tongue my mind can't translate. so i lay still on my bed, experiencing a wildness that can breathe me back to life from beyond my grave. tonight i believe in spirits. maybe i am a ghost when i fall asleep; anything is possible this very moment because it is nothing like the one it succeeds nor like the one it will precede. the future hadn't been created when i wrote the last sentence and now i am in it. Ah, to be alive.

#let the man rest