[unbelievablekats]

Felt weird and now its everyones problem

[allsadnshit]

I need a "girl who's gonna be okay" moment bad

[petaltexturedskies]

Janet Fitch, White Oleander

[henryfcx]

two parentheses enclosing 3,700 miles

[lunamonchtuna]

— Fyodor Dostoevsky, from a letter featured in Letters of Fyodor Michailovitch Dostoevsky to his Family & Friends (via lunamonchtuna)

[tophbefong]

ALT ER LOVE (2015—2017)

[shisasan]

𝙹𝚞𝚕𝚢 𝟷, 𝟷𝟿𝟷𝟺, 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙳𝚒𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝙾𝚏 𝙵𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚣 𝙺𝚊𝚏𝚔𝚊, 𝟷𝟿𝟷𝟺-𝟷𝟿𝟸𝟹

[ID: July 1. Too tired. END ID]

[shisasan]

“July 1. Too tired.” — Franz Kafka, The Diaries of Franz Kafka: 1914-1923 “I am tired of lies and deformities. I need absolution.” — Anaïs Nin, The Journals [Vol.1], 1931–1934 “I was very fond of you, but now I’m so, so tired…” — Albert Camus, The Plague “I am tired of waiting on life,” — Charles Bukowski, Sifting Through the Madness for the Word, the Line, the Way: New Poems “I am so tired of that old suffering. I want life to go forward.” — Anne Sexton, A Self-Portrait in Letters

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ A very tired July. Here’s to all who’s still pushing through it. 🜍 ⟡ ⟢ 

[twotargaryens]

[5-6/?] screencaps  ❯❯❯  Daenerys

[innerchildabortionclinic]

I love everyone's cat

[petaltexturedskies]

Albert Camus, The Fall

[mewismarchived-deactivated20240]

[sanscest69]

I just realized that many many people have jobs

Rb with your job, wtf do you people do while offline???

[petaltexturedskies]

Anaïs Nin, in a diary entry dated 23 February 1925, from The Early Diary of Anaïs Nin: 1923–1927

[loveforbucky]

[luluthings-deactivated20250621]

doing your makeup, listening to music & not being in a rush is so therapeutic

[notgreatbob]

''i wasted those years'' who cares. you lived the only life you could've lived in those moments

[callmezeemonic]

You did the best you could with all you had and knew. That was then. Here is now

[ostavia-deactivated20190624]

Then, in my most careful handwriting, come all the details it would be a crime to forget. Lady licking Prim’s cheek. My father’s laugh. Peeta’s father with the cookies. The colour of Finnick’s eyes. What Cinna could do with a length of silk. Boggs reprogramming the Holo. Rue poised on her toes, arms slightly extended, like a bird about to take flight. On and on. We seal the pages with salt water and promises to live well, to make their death count.