Call me bitter but I hate seeing pictures of you smiling with other people. Not because you’re happy, but because I know you’re not. I know that deep down inside when he drops you off at home you’re just as lonely as you were before.
When you’re alone it feels as though time couldn’t go by any faster, as if death isn’t so much of a fear, but rather something you welcome. However when you’re with someone it seems as though there isn’t enough time in the world to do half of the things you want to do with that person.
"The so-called ‘psychotically depressed’ person who tries to kill herself doesn’t do so out of quote ‘hopelessness’ or any abstract conviction that life’s assets and debits do not square. And surely not because death seems suddenly appealing. The person in whom Its invisible agony reaches a certain unendurable level will kill herself the same way a trapped person will eventually jump from the window of a burning high-rise. Make no mistake about people who leap from burning windows. Their terror of falling from a great height is still just as great as it would be for you or me standing speculatively at the same window just checking out the view; i.e. the fear of falling remains a constant. The variable here is the other terror, the fire’s flames: when the flames get close enough, falling to death becomes the slightly less terrible of two terrors. It’s not desiring the fall; it’s terror of the flames. And yet nobody down on the sidewalk, looking up and yelling ‘Don’t!’ and ‘Hang on!’, can understand the jump. Not really. You’d have to have personally been trapped and felt flames to really understand a terror way beyond falling."
I wish you’d stop posting dumb abstract pictures on instagram because I’d rather see pictures of you instead.
I would sacrifice everything for a new experience.
One of my life goals is to date one of the Vivian Girls.
I wasn’t sure if Elizabeth Moss was a bae or not until I saw her performance on season 7, and this picture.
Loneliness is real.
We are as forlorn as children lost in the woods. When you stand in front of me and look at me, what do you know of the griefs that are in me and what do I know of yours. And if I were to cast myself down before you and weep and tell you, what more would you know about me than you know about Hell when someone tells you it is hot and dreadful? For that reason alone we human beings ought to stand before one another as reverently, as reflectively, as lovingly, as we would before the entrance to Hell
Kafka, Franz. Letter to Oskar Pollak. 1903.