The world is indeed full of peril and in it there are many dark places. But still there is much that is fair. And though in all lands, love is now mingled with grief, it still grows, perhaps, the greater.
I love borders. August is the border between summer and autumn; it is the most beautiful month I know. Twilight is the border between day and night, and the shore is the border between sea and land. The border is longing: when both have fallen in love but still haven’t said anything. The border is to be on the way. It is the way that is the most important thing
I need to talk to Daniel Clowes like… So badly right now. I think he’s the only one who’d give me like… A real answer.
Whining/Bullshit:
I really, really want to get to that part of depression where you just don’t feel anything anymore. I’m getting really fucking sick of feeling sad for no real reason and trying to find places where I can be alone to cry.
Even my imaginary friends (and the people so lonely they purposefully seek me out) have no use for me at this point. It’s fucking grim.
