I keep dying a little everyday,
Tell me,
When are you going to see my death?
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@existingillusion
I keep dying a little everyday,
Tell me,
When are you going to see my death?
I can't help but fall, whether it's for your words Or your blade.
Please. What am I supposed to do with myself?
I survive on the theory that somewhere,
in the middle of an ordinary day,
I cross her mind
the way she still crosses mine
every time.
When I loved you, I loved the city you lived in. I loved the spelling of your name, your voice, and your laugh. I loved you and everything about you.
aren’t we each other’s safe place?
What inspired you to write?
Grief.
Her.
Hergrief.
Griefher.
Hereyes.
Grief.
Hercoffeebrowneyes.
Her.
Grief.
Well what's she like?
Idk kinda like her eyes hold the light of a thousand suns.
It's october, and suddenly I want to burn all the poems i wrote for my muse.
Oh this urge, what is october doing to me?
Which of all my important nothings shall I tell you first?
— Jane Austen, Letters to Cassandra Austen (June 15, 1808)