HELP I NEARLY DIED I Was Scrolling Through Pinterest Screaming Mitski At The Top Of My Lungs Then This

I used to build dreams about you.

F. Scott Fitzgerald

"he is fictional and dead" TO YOU MAYBE

I talked to him personally yesterday and he offered me some tea

Relationships should be 50/50. I tell her that I think of her, often, it's disgusting and I can't stop, and she puts a knife to my throat

handsome women covered in blood. reblog.

No it's not that I don't appreciate the flirting, I just wish you wouldn't do it while I'm in the middle of vivisecting you. Yes I know that it's really hot when I'm covered in your blood elbow deep in your chest cavity that's why I keep vivisecting you. But I keep getting flustered and dropping your liver and its really slippery so I keep dropping it over and over again leading to very comedic slapstick comedy where I slip on your blood and fall over really funny

heard porn bots might be following you guys again. sorry about that. but in some good news i have been gaining many new followers who are real stunningly beautiful women. welcome ladies :)

"...anyone who really knows mankind might say that there is not one single living human being who does not despair a little, who does not secretly harbour an unrest, an inner strife, a disharmony, an anxiety about an unknown something or a something he dare not even try to know, an anxiety about some possibility in existence or an anxiety about himself..."

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.

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:

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𝘐 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘸 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘺 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺

𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘥.

♡ xoxo-Suzy ♡

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