🤍remi🤍

Bro, my unyielding loyalty towards you is totally normal and healthy, I swear. It's just that it's definitely my duty to rip out your enemies throats with my bare teeth. You are the love of my life and I am your most valuable tool. Each night, I fantasize about dying in your arms, covered in blood, and then I close my eyes one final time, satisfied because I can feel your fingers on my face as I take my last breath. Haha anyways

Can't stop thinking about how it's Horatio and not Hamlet who is in both the first and last scene. This is the story of Hamlet, but somehow the play begins and ends with Horatio, because even though it's about Hamlet, it's not actually his story. These are the things Horatio has witnessed - the things we as the audience have witnessed alongside him - and he is going to "speak to the yet unknowing world [h]ow these things came about" (Hamlet, 5.2.364-365). We start with Horatio witnessing the appearance of the ghost and we end with him surrounded by the dead, vowing to tell their stories.

he’s a 10 but one of his paintings keeps getting uglier and more horrific with each passing day

if TBOSAS doesn't end with Donald Sutherland as Snow in his office perhaps having flashbacks of that day in the woods while watching the 74th Hunger Games then all of the sudden he hears the Willow song and he just stares eyes wide mouth quivering in utter shock and disbelief at the literal personification of his karma and imminent demise then what's the point?

i am going to check the despair. i am on this earth to read the poems my friends write and to fall in love w songs i hear through those i love and listen to my siblings thunderclap of wild laughter from the other room and crunch frost-bitten grass beneath my feet and watch pigeons jauntily flocking in and out of derelict windows and count dust motes in a shaft of early morning light in midwinter and and and and and. goodnight.

and ugly cry while chopping onions, and peel the stickers off of fruit to stick them on my brother when he isnt looking, and marvel at toddlers in their oversized coats, and wake up to go to the bathroom only to find the moon shining through my window illuminating everything everything everything

and twist the teabag string around the handle of my mug, and catch glimpses of the sea through a train window, and spritz my hands w orange blossom water, and hear birdsong at 5pm, and drop sprigs of thyme in warm milk, and yes maybe cry a bit and then again and then some more but as long as i can do that it means im here and feeling things a lot of things still. still