“I don’t know you. The only thing I know about you is, you’re reading this. I don’t know whether you’re happy or not; I don’t know whether you’re young or not. I sort of hope you’re young and sad. If you’e old and happy, I can imagine that you’ll maybe smile to yourself when you hear me going, He broke my heart. You’ll remember someone who broke your heart, and you’ll think to yourself, Oh yes, I can remember how that feels. But you can’t, you smug old git. Oh, you might remember feeling sort of pleasantly sad. You might remember listening to music and eating chocolates in your room, or walking along the Embankment on your own, wrapped up in a winter coat and feeling lonely and brave. But can you remember how with every mouthful of food it felt like you were biting into your own stomach? Can you remember the taste of red wine as it came back up and into the toilet bowl? Can you remember dreaming every night that you were still together, that he was talking to you gently and touching you, so that every morning you had to go through it all over again? Can you remember carving his initials into your arm with a kitchen knife? Can you remember standing too close to the edge of an Underground platform? No? Well, fucking shut up, then. Stick your smile up your soggy old arse.”—
fuckin’ fuck. i actually have major sanity concerns about my brain sans tv safety zone. i already feel myself falling in the lonely self hate nihilism hole. please lend me your dvds and fiction books. plz.
this one time my friends and I made up this game called dropstep: you lie on the floor in your pjs at 3:30 am and hold out your phones. one person plays dubstep on songza with their phone and when you think the beat is going to drop you drop your phone. whoever is closest without going over wins. but really no one wins because you play with unlimited chances and are too busy laughing to keep score