"I want to explain to him how exhausted I am, even in my dreams, how I wake up tired, how I’m being drowned by some kind of black wave, but I can’t write, and he doesn’t really wanna know about it anyway."
— Elizabeth Wurtzel, Prozac Nation (via portails)
(Source: rudegay15, via portails)
"I want something else. I’m not even sure what to call it anymore except I know it feels roomy and it’s drenched in sunlight and it’s weightless and I know it’s not cheap. It’s probably not even real."
— Mark Z. Danielewski, House of Leaves (via ultimateslice)
(Source: larmoyante, via ultimateslice)