How Unfortunate It Is That Love Doesn’t Find You Worthy Enough To Even Give You A Chance, As If Even

Can I haunt you? Like romantically.

Sylvia Plath, aged 30, in a letter to Olive Higgins Prouty, her mentor & benefactress, 4 months after discovering her husband's infidelity, and their subsequent separation (dated Tuesday, 20 November 1962)

“You hold flaws so beautiful, even perfection aches with envy.

No. It aches with desire.

A sickening, damning desire,

That secretly slips to the soles of your feet to devour you whole.”

—— by CarpeVenus (@songs-of-venus)

maybe i like this rollercoaster, maybe it keeps me high

My toxic trait is that I made Daphne du Maurier my personality in school instead of Jane Austen

Look like the innocent flower,

but be the serpent under it

We are all stardust and stories✨

Me, after another night of drafting, editing, writing, editing, editing again, some more editing

nevermind *deletes the whole thing*

So many people disregard Camus as cold, detached, cynical.

But I ask you, what is a cynic, if not a broken romantic?

“Find meaning. Distinguish melancholy from sadness. Go out for a walk. It doesn't have to be a romantic walk in the park, spring at its most spectacular moment, flowers and smells and outstanding poetical imagery smoothly transferring you into another world. It doesn't have to be a walk during which you'll have multiple life epiphanies and discover meanings no other brain ever managed to encounter. Do not be afraid of spending quality time by yourself. Find meaning or don't find meaning but "steal" some time and give it freely and exclusively to your own self. Opt for privacy and solitude. That doesn't make you antisocial or cause you to reject the rest of the world. But you need to breathe. And you need to be.”

// Albert Camus, from “Notebooks, 1951-1959”