The kindest thing literature does is remind you that your peculiar little feelings have always existed. Someone, in some century, was equally confused by love, bored by society, tired of performing, and hungry for meaning.
I texted him, “How was your day today?” and he sent me a 10-minute voice note telling me everything.
And that basically sums up the kind of person I want by my side. Stop normalizing disinterest—you’re turning yourselves into idiots.
"dEpREsSiOn cAn'T hiT a MOvinG taRGeT" buddy you can't be busy all the time. your thoughts will find you one saturday evening and try to kill you on sunday. pls stfu respectfully