“There Are Times When I Am Convinced I Am Unfit For Any Human Relationship.”

cleaning my room and the living room ✅

hoovering ✅

uni work ❌

steve harrington fanfiction ✅

something that really hits me is the way neil reads the opening poem by thoreau at the very first dps meeting. the way after he finishes reading the poem he takes a moment to himself in order to take in what he’s just read. you can tell that these words genuinely mean something to him and that he really resonates with them. i think it’s in that moment that he fully understands what keating means by carpe diem. especially the last line “and not, when i came to die, discover that i had not lived.” it’s so beautiful and heartbreaking at the same time

I run after him in the cold winter, my laboured breaths creating clouds of steam in the air. A smoke threatening to choke me and blind me and eat me alive. “Don’t walk away from me!” I shout at his back, my voice cracking at the end. He freezes. His fists clench and he stands there, turned away from me. “Don’t walk away from me. Please” I whimper again. He suddenly spins around, eyes red and tears streaming down his cheeks. My heart cracks. “you don’t get to ask that of me” he finally mutters brokenly “you. Do not. Get to ask anything of me!” he repeats louder now, getting in my face. I stand there, sinking and sinking until I wonder if the concrete below me is sucking me in or if his presence is a tornado itself. “You are breaking me. No, you are absolutely annihilating my heart” he whispers with so much emotion that I can see the cracks in his eyes. His hands hold my shoulders desperately and all I want to do is sink in them but all I can do is frantically shake my head while sobbing.  “You crashed into my life,” he goes on “you flipped my world upside down. I gave you my heart. I GAVE YOU MY HEART” he laughs, sounding nothing lie the boy I used to know. “the best part is, I never knew I could have something like what we had. I never knew it existed.” A scoff, he suddenly sneers. “you should have never come into my life. You can’t miss what you never had. But now. Now you have destroyed me. And I will never be the same again” still shaking my head I beg, “please. I-I can’t tell you,” I stop to stifle a sob. “I can’t tell you why I shut you out but you have to trust me. You mean everything to me. You mean the world to me and I can’t I can’t I can’t see you like this. It is killing me please stop please stop feeling like this I can’t breathe and you’re standing there and it hurts it hurts so god damn much because your pain is my pain so stop!” taking in a deep breath, I finally look him in the eye and tell him the truth.

“imagine caring so much about fiction” imagine being so lame that you scoff at the timeless human practice of falling in love with art and stories

Other people's emotions are deep and complex and beautiful but mine are proof that there is rot at the core of my being

Left Munich at 8:35 P. M., on 1st May, arriving at Vienna early next morning; should have arrived at 6:46, but train was an hour late.

Me last year: 6:46 is… very precise, buddy.

Me this year:

Whatever you do, don’t imagine todd the night after neil had passed, after the ceremony and all the days events, sitting alone in his room staring straight at neil’s bed.

the messy bed with the blankets thrown back and the pillow still creased after neil had woken up and left for the play. and how none of the poets had dared to touch it.

how todd became so distraught while staring at it he climbed into it and curled up under the covers and started to cry as the blankets still smelled like neil.

how todd spent all night in the bed sobbing his eyes out and holding onto the blankets for dear life, until the morning came and mr nolan came to collect all of neil’s stuff.

don’t imagine how todd fought to stay in the bed and keep neil’s stuff; sobbing and reaching for neil’s belongings as they were carted away like they were nothing but a collection of disappointments.

don’t imagine how todd stole one of neils sweaters without mr. nolan looking, along with one of neils books and kept them for himself.

don’t imagine how when mr nolan had left, and todd was left with nothing but the sweater and book, he curled up on the empty bed, devoid of all blankets, and read.

and how todd had found a poem neil had written, jotted down in messy scrawl on a piece of ripped paper, shoved in between two chapters. and how multiple lines were crossed out and rewritten with the intention of getting it perfect.

And how the poem was addressed to todd,

and how it was a love poem.

don’t imagine it.

Cogito, Ergo Sum

I write ugly things.

That’s who I am.

I expel the bad onto paper.

Otherwise it gets stuck in me. Emotional constipation.

That’s probably why people hurt each other.

They need to get rid of it. The ache.

Can’t keep it in. Easiest way to get rid of hurt is to pass it onto someone else.

Most readers like it though. The hurt.

Look at Bukowski and Hemingway. They’re successful. Apart from the alcoholism and suicide.

I don’t understand them all that well.

You’re too young to understand, they tell me.

I don’t know about that.

I think I just don’t understand men who create their own suffering.

I’ve had enough pain. Disease and dead friends and all that.

Good thing for a writer though. To suffer.

Suffering brings validity to narrative.

I hate that.

I hate that perspective only matters if the writer has gone through something horrible.

Suffering adds to character. Solidifies it.

I also hate that.

Identity should not be so fickle.

It should be made of curiosity, interests, relationships, passion, and peace.

It should be made, fostered, cared for.

Not victimized.

But maybe that’s just the way we are.

We must rot so that others will salvage our blossoms.

We must dish out counterfeit pain to remember we are alive.

Mortal.

Look at me, you say, beaten red.

I bleed therefore I am.

You watch him walk away, still waiting for him to turn around and say this was all a joke. That he still loves you. That he still wants you. But he keeps walking. Step after step, another kick to your shattered heart. You were going to break down in the middle of this whole room. The tears blur your eyes until you can’t see the gaping faces around you. Everything hurts. Is this what death felt like? Nothing seems to function like it’s supposed to anymore and your knees give out. Strong hands suddenly take a hold of you, supporting all your weight and bringing shivers to your skin. You’re not sure what pathetic noise you make because suddenly his lips are at your ear whispering “shhh angel, you’re ok. I’ve got you. I’m going to lead you outside now.” The familiar voice shocks you enough to look up and you see your enemy look down at you with a suspiciously gentle look. Too tired and broken to care, you let him move you until you feel him sit down and pull you into his lap, cradling you.  You weren’t sure if this was some cruel joke for him but you figure there’s nothing left of you for him to break. So, you sit there with him, face buried in his neck, devastation tearing through your soul. “I’ll kill him for hurting you.” Surprised, you lift your head to see if he’s joking, but all you find is fire and dark promise in his eyes, one that shouldn’t reassure you so much but does anyways. His thumb comes up to swipe your tears and he leans forward to press a soft kiss on your brow. “Don’t waste your tears on him, Angel. He doesn’t deserve them. Let alone your heart.” You let out a broken laugh and whisper, voice cracking, “well its too fucking late for that isn’t it. I gave it to him and he caged it. Ruined it.” A flicker of wrath crossed his face, a look that could bring gods to their knees. “I’ll steal it back for you my love,” he replied so softly that you barely heard him. “I’ll steal it back for you and then rip his out of his chest for every time he clipped your beautiful angel wings.” Kissing my tear-stained cheek, he tells me, “You’re free now baby. Free for me to take.” Your eyes widen at his last statement and terror shoots through you as you start to feel drowsy. The last thing you see before slipping into oblivion is his cunning smirk and cold eyes.