To not die until I’ve accomplished something worthwhile. To not hurt anyone. To have a few lovers here and there. To write about it.
(My Plan For Life)
(Source: bornreadygeneration.com, via bornreadygeneration)
See, I’m the worst breed of human. Let me explain. Some people are dead inside. They go through life knowing this, and they manage fine enough, because, well, they are dead inside. They aren’t bitter because they don’t care enough to be. They just try to get by with the things they can control. Others live in the fucking clouds, watch romantic comedies, and dream about everything being perfect one. These people are always fine because they have an everlasting well of hope inside them, and no mater what happens they’ll just romanticized their existence. But when it comes to me… I am someone who’s mostly dead inside but still has a little hope for something extraordinary, which, as I said, is the worst breed of human, because it means that I know everything is bullshit, but that I secretly hope for the day when it might not be. The tension makes me wish I were just completely dead inside. It would make things much easier for me. See that? Anyway, then I met you, or read your writing rather, and now I feel connected to someone for the first time in… forever. So, please, if you can’t write for yourself, write for me.
Isn’t It Pretty To Think So?//Nick Miller (via mindlesstragedies