“Why wasn’t friendship as good as a relationship? Why wasn’t it even better? It was two people who remained together, day after day, bound not by sex or physical attraction or money or children or property, but only by the shared agreement to keep going, the mutual dedication to a union that could never be codified.”
— Hanya Yanagihara, A Little Life
please be buried six feet under. FUCK!!!!!!
me: im gonna get home and do my hw(: me, when home: well i made my banana bread and raspberry lemonade! my candle is lit, my music is playing, im ready to start(: me, after consuming all my food and drink and sitting at the counter for three hours without touching my homework: well time for bed
when you bang your head on the wall you have to remember you’re on both sides of it already but go ahead, yell at yourself.
it should be enough. to make something beautiful should be enough. it isn’t. it should be.
i put a thing in your hand. will you defend yourself? from me, i mean.
i wanted to explain myself to myself in an understandable way.
my inner life is a sheet of black glass. if i fell through the floor i would keep falling.
the enormity of my desire disgusts me.
when you have nothing to say, set something on fire
want something to chase you? run.
i’ve seen your true face: the back of your head. if you were walking away, keep walking.
the fear: that nothing survives. the greater fear: that something does.
he is inside his body and i am inside my body and it matters less and less.
how much can you change and get away with it, before you turn into something else, before it’s some kind of murder?
some say god is where we put our sorrow. god says, which one of you fuckers can get to me first?
there’s a dream in the space between the hammer and the nail: the dream of about-to-be-hit, which is a bad dream, but the nail will take the hit if it gets to sleep inside the wood forever.
everyone needs a place. it shouldn’t be inside of someone else.
your body told me in a dream it’s never been afraid of anything.
i live in big spaces, so i’m left alone in big spaces.
there is no new me, there is no old me, there’s just me, the same me, the whole time.
i hope it’s love. i’m trying really hard to make it love.
i clawed my way into the light but the light is just as scary. i’d rather quit. i’d rather be sad. it’s too much work.
he was pointing at the moon but i was looking at his hand.
Hanya Yanagihara, A Little Life
my pulse is through the roof right now
yea i drink juice when i’m killin cuz it’s fuckin delicious!
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