Fuck shit up

Truth is I care about you far more than myself and you just don’t see it and it’s killing me.

letteratura-litterature:

Virginia Woolf’s suicide letter to her husband Leonard (March 28, 1941)
 Dearest,
I feel certain I am going mad again. I feel we can’t go through another of those terrible times. And I shan’t recover this time. I begin to hear voices, and I can’t concentrate. So I am doing what seems the best thing to do. You have given me the greatest possible happiness. You have been in every way all that anyone could be. I don’t think two people could have been happier till this terrible disease came. I can’t fight any longer. I know that I am spoiling your life, that without me you could work. And you will I know. You see I can’t even write this properly. I can’t read. What I want to say is I owe all the happiness of my life to you. You have been entirely patient with me and incredibly good. I want to say that — everybody knows it. If anybody could have saved me it would have been you. Everything has gone from me but the certainty of your goodness. I can’t go on spoiling your life any longer.
I don’t think two people could have been happier than we have been.
iodins:

-

unwakeable:

that time in the night when you can’t stop yawning but can’t get to sleep either

(via happiest)

shyowl:

sunfl0werpetal:

lilb2k14:

this lion really got eyelashes

this lion is prettier than i am


hippie vibes
universc:

???
universc:

???
exrthwalker:

neck deep // head to the ground
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