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I fell asleep at 2, woke up for 2 minutes at 6, then woke up again and have been awake and thinking about henry clerval WAY too much since 9, its now 3 am and im slowly going insane
crying guenièvre pour passer le temps au taf
i feel that it’s important that everybody sees this photo of tsar nicky being an airplane
😢😟😣😞😭
u alive, henry?
👌✌✌✌✌👋👋👋👋👋👋👋👍👍👍👍👍
❝ you have a very messy brain. ❞
distorted whispers still tether to his mind; pervade his skin like infusion pump cables—provide about as much comfort, too. a pervasive prickle just behind his eyes has all but drowned out the pulsating headache that'd come to keep him company after an unfortunate mismatch of freshly prescribed medication and ... something else ( caffeine, lactose, water, air. who really knew? pills these days were able to find a gripe with anything, be it the weather or the human condition ). he'd thought to get rid of it along with silhouettes of the deceased in his field of vision by simply relinquishing it to the kitchen table. a tremor in his arm and a misjudgment in force had sent it to the floor with a loud clatter instead. maybe it'd find some camaraderie with the crumpled package insert he'd gotten rid of first thing after quickly discerning that his officially prescribed dosage wasn't even listed in the common folk recommendations. laughable.
for the moment, he doesn't feel like laughing, though; let's his knuckles prod against restless eyelids time and time again. he's come to recognize that there is a distinct drawback to being aware that the dead and the living are not quite as disconnected as the average myth-busting journalist would like to make one believe. where illusions fail to meet the standards of reality, experienced minds are quick to bridge the gaps in cognition with interpretations of their own. it makes distinguishing actual specters from those summoned by memories too difficult. too tedious. too painful.
slumped in his chair as is, he barely takes note of oncoming steps that may as well translate to plain semicolons in between echoing accusations. only when warm touch meets his temples half an eternity later does his attention shift; like moth to a flame, craving an out to this noisy abyss. "... what?" at the very least, he knows to discern a sincere nudge from the frosty greetings delivered by ghastly visitors. ( and even if the man turned out to be another figment ... he'd still make for a breath of fresh air in this monochrome episode ).
"oh, do me a favor and run it through the blender right now."
HENRY.
👋👋👋👋👋👋👋👋👋🧙♀️👱🏻♀️