19 April, 1939 Letters To Véra By Vladimir Nabokov

do any of my friends know the love I carry in every word i say to them. When I add too many words, drag on a joke that’s over, when I message them despite the fact the conversation barely ended five minutes ago? every word i speak is an intimacy that’s laced with outright adoration for them as people and all the little details that make them who they are. Do you know I love you? Do y’all know how much of you I try to commit to memory? How much I try to make you smile? do y’all know the love I feel for you?

me when my friends call me darling: <333

me when my friends call me love: <333

me when my friends call me my dear: <333

me when my friends give me any sort of pet name or touch me casually: <333

heart shaped forget-me-nots

obsessed with this genre of images

in case no one asked if you’re doing okay today, i care and would like to know. i also want to tell you i’m rooting for you today and every day.

i want to annoy the shit out of u (lovingly)