He had added that he was writing, but he was of course always writing; it was a practice that continued, oddly enough, to relieve him, to make him come nearer than anything else to the consciousness of doing something: so that he often wondered if he hadn’t really, under his recent stress, acquired some hollow trick, one of the specious arts of make-believe.
constantly torn between being a good person or a sarcastic little prick
Call me maybe starts playing on the radio
|me:||oh my god not again|
|me:||I THREW A WISH IN THE WELL DON'T ASK ME I'LL NEVER TELL|
is everything expensive or am i just poor
Some fanfiction is so weird, I’m over here like …