Twenties. Russian/French. Chronic insomniac.

I write sometimes. Mostly about people, endings, religion, obsession, and whatever else keeps me awake long enough to stare at the ceiling until sunrise. I’ve always been more interested in what decays than what survives. There’s something more honest in watching a person unravel slowly than pretending they were ever completely whole to begin with.

I don’t think death is tragic. I think it gives things weight. Love matters because it ends. Loneliness becomes strangely intimate if you sit with it long enough. Most people spend their lives trying not to look directly at themselves. I’ve never really had that problem.

This blog is mostly fragments of thought, writing, and things I find beautiful in darker places.

I will ignore you being a bitch because it’s nice seeing you in my inbox.

She is extraordinarily beautiful, but she is not my girlfriend.