I wish I wrote the way I thought;
With maddening hunger.
I’d write to the point of suffocation.
I’d write myself into nervous breakdowns,
Manuscripts spiralling out like tentacles into abysmal nothing.
And I’d write about you
a lot more
than I should.
Benedict Smith, I Wish I Wrote The Way I Thought (via erraticintrovert)
I am not happy. I am not unhappy. I am frozen somewhere in the middle that is so much worse. I am nowhere. Nothing is happening and I am getting more and more sad.
Samantha Schutz, I Don’t Want to be Crazy (via xplsns)
And so with the sunshine and the great bursts of leaves growing on the trees, just as things grow in fast movies, I had that familiar conviction that life was beginning over again with the summer.
The Great Gatsby (via heymikewaskom)