#4thwall//break

(tortoises all the way down)

I find it hard to talk about the beauty of fear, in a way that it can be fully appreciated. my love for well-written psychological horror movies surpasses my desire to simply fester in my head, thinking thoughts and dreaming Lovecraftian nightmares in human faces. there is no direction to this note, you see. it's just something to urge myself on; write more, so to speak. in a sense I think myself to be selfish, because I'd rather hoard all these wonderful tales of our lives (ill-written, of course) than talk about stuff all day. my life could be better but it's not, in this moment. I hope someday someone will read this and say “but your life was better, I wish you'd seen it.”

I wish I can too, but I'm seeing other stuff. I'll tell you about it sometime. I love you. I said it.

you'll remember this note, but you won't come back. don't come back.