if these mortal minutes would last forever, i’d walk under the bitter moon with you. i’d walk barefoot through wet grass with you. i’d chew on licorice with you and you know how i hate licorice with a passion. i’d use my compass to find compassion with you. i’d build robots with you and solve math problems with you. i’d glow with you. i’d dance with you. i’d hold hands with you. i’d let go of the world with you.
Virginia Woolf’s letter/suicide note to her husband Leonard Woolf.
And this is how it ends.
It’s 4.57 in the afternoon. I’m marking papers and eating really good chocolate cake. My phone vibrates. I have a text message. I look at the familiar number. My heart starts to beat like a freight train. My hands grow clammy and my cheeks burn up. It’s been three months…
|—||Tom McNeal (via perfect)|
I still wish everyday that you pay for every second you hurt me in the past two years.
Intentional Dissonance, Iain Thomas (via silhouettethatcomestome)