i keep thinking seasons are going to cure me. if not June, then July.
i'll try again in August.
never as good as it's supposed to be.
i don't change with the seasons like i expected to. i thought i was in tune with the rhythms of trees, that i would shed and break and grow again with nothing but time.
i thought summer would save me
but summer is never as good as it was.

april is the cruelest month, breeding lilacs out of the dead land, mixing memory and desire, stirring dull roots with spring rain.

if you’re so funny, why are you on your own tonight?

“ just remember, however hard things get, however much you feel like you're struggling, the world is full of beauty.
and it's up to you to capture it, Louis. ”

are we what we do with time, or are we what time does with us?

the perks of being a wallflower is literally my roman empire