Sanna Wani, “Who is the Sun, Asking for Sleep?”, My Grief, the Sun // Brenna Twohy, A Coworker Asks Me If I Am Sad, Still

Fortesa Latifi, from The Truth About Grief.

ok here’s a kyle one. sorry it’s the pcov rewatch it brings something out in me

— Louise Glück, from “Timor Mortis.”

— Jane Austen

Vladimir Nabokov, Letters to Véra

Text ID: I don't feel guilt at being unsociable, though I may sometimes regret it because my loneliness is painful. But when I move into the world, it feels like a moral fall—like seeking love in a whorehouse.

Aldous Huxley, Brave New World

— Nikos Kazantzakis, from a letter to his sister written c. March 1912

by running from it until it finds me in the middle of a sunny street on a beautiful day

The Irish Aesthete: Ruins of Ireland, by Robert O'Byrne

“Now I am quietly waiting for  the catastrophe of my personality  to seem beautiful again,”]

from Autopsy by Donte Collins