don’t get it twisted like i respect bugs for being the best they can be in spite of their specific assigned flesh prisons and their ecological significance but they need to stay the fuck away from me
I think about dying but I dont want to die. Not even close. In fact my problem is the complete opposite. I want to live, I want to escape. I feel trapped and bored and claustrophobic. There’s so much to see and so much to do but I somehow still find myself doing nothing at all. I’m still here in this metaphorical bubble of existence and I can’t quite figure out what the hell I’m doing or how to get out of it.
I wish people didn’t think silence was awkward, just enjoy it. Not every space has to be filled with words.
writing tip #941:
set your story somewhere no other story has ever been set. you can’t use your house. i’ve already claimed that setting