I buried my head under the darkness of the pillow and pretended it was night. I couldn't see the point of getting up. I had nothing to look forward to.
Sylvia Plath, the bell jar
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❣ Chile in a Photography ❣

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@engel1999
I buried my head under the darkness of the pillow and pretended it was night. I couldn't see the point of getting up. I had nothing to look forward to.
Sylvia Plath, the bell jar
Sally Rooney, Normal People
“I fell in love with the idea that the mysterious thing you look for your whole life will eventually eat you alive.”
— Laurie Anderson explaining her attraction to Moby-Dick
i love your layout can i kiss your cheek ?
omg thank you & duh (you single handedly keep tumblr alive)
You write the code.
i went to tumblr school with her
“It’s true, after a while you lose the will to live. And after a while, that feeling can no longer be reversed. That will to live, it never comes back. Your life? You live on autopilot. You do things, but you feel nothing. Nothing gives you joy anymore. You wake up, but it has no purpose anymore..you’ve lost your purpose. Nothing holds any meaning for you. You wake up..just for the sake of getting up. It’s the human thing to do. But the truth is, there’s the absence of purpose and worth. It has been long gone by now..and I am not sure if it will ever come back.”
—
i keep catching myself wondering if he would like something i do or read or wear or say . i keep asking myself if he would date girls i see walking down the street wondering why i was never good enough to make him stay
i don’t feel pretty enough to be a girl .i don’t feel like a real girl. i’m just not like them. they all wear the same clothes, the same bags, they all have the same laugh, the same boyfriends. i’m just not that ,sometimes i wish i was
“The only people I would care to be with now are artists and people who have suffered: those who know what beauty is, and those who know what sorrow is: nobody else interests me.”
— Oscar Wilde
"I am a dreamer; I have so little real life that I look upon such moments as this now, as so rare, that I cannot help going over such moments again in my dreams. I shall be dreaming of you all night, a whole week, a whole year."
— White Nights, Fyodor Dostoevsky