Imagine reading a book of every conversation where people have spoken about you.
I wish I could do this but I’m afraid of heights. :c
what if someone randomly came up behind them and pushed them off?
she would die
and the pusher would go to hell
haha but this picture is perf
I wish I wrote the way I thought
With maddening hunger
I’d write to the point of suffocation
I’d write myself into nervous breakdowns
Manuscripts spiralling out like tentacles into abysmal nothing
And I’d write about you
a lot more
than I should