Honestly don’t think there’s anything more fulfilling and satisfying than writing. Never happier than I am when I’m with a pen and a blank piece of paper.
It’s strange to me how some people write things in a certain way, or behave in a certain way in the hope to be remembered or idolized. If I ever wrote something significant, or relevant to somebodys life, where they could relate to and understand what I was saying, then thats an incredible thing to me. Just the fact that there’s someone out there who is on the same wavelength, thinking the same as you. That’s always been enough for me. It frustrates me that people buy into peoples bullshit; that they agree with what a certain person says, yet with no actual consideration as to whether that particular person is thinking it at all. It’s almost as if people want to be inspired and want to have problems, when in reality they have no inspiration and nothing to complain about. Being “complicated” isn’t a good thing. Films and music lie. People want normality. Comfort. Nobody wishes for difficulty.
Disappointed beyond belief. It’s really weird how you can actually genuinely only depend on yourself. No point ever trying to rely or trust in any other person.
so so depressing when you it takes you so long to take the wall down and think the best of someone and they just throw it in your face
On Love, Lust, and Intimacy
A set of Elizabethan sonnets that offer some insight into my ‘love life’ over the past few years. The story of how Michael and I came to be.