Depression is stupid and not a thing that makes me a better writer. One time I went a whole year without writing and I stayed in bed and drank. Fuck your Bukowskisms. I want sunlight and love and running down some street I’ve never been on where it’s warm and cool at the same time and I’m smiling. I want nothing to ever be bad again- and I don’t mean that I want a life free of conflict, I mean that I want a life free of meaningless conflict. Not being able to will oneself to take a shower or leave the house is meaningless. There is nothing to be gained, no lesson to be learned from that kind of life. My heart is stale, my prose is stale. Give me fire if you want to hurt me. Give me something I can taste. There’s nothing romantic or mysterious about where I am. There’s nothing here worth holding onto.
Stardust (2007), dir. Matthew Vaughn
"Oh, excuse me, madam. Sorry. This may seem strange, but have you seen a fallen star anywhere?"
"No, really, we’re in a crater. This must be where it fell."
dont kill yourself tonight ok
you have a really pretty smile and i know its not always easy to manage one but itd be a bummer if we never had the chance to see it ever again
youre really important and you matter a lot so stay safe and try and have a nice sleep
I would like a moment to thank the people who reblog post like this so that it eventually shows on my dash.
It is keeping me alive
But we were dragons. We were supposed to be cruel, cunning, heartless and terrible. But this much I can tell you, we never burned and tortured and ripped one another apart and called it morality.