Writers end up writing about their obsessions. Things that haunt them; things they can’t forget; stories they carry in their bodies waiting to be released.
i dont even know why i bother developing crushes if all im going to do is stare at you from a distance everyday until I mentally decide to break up with you
“I felt like crying but nothing came out. it was just a sort of sad sickness, sick sad, when you can’t feel any worse. I think you know it. I think everybody knows it now and then. but I think I have known it pretty often, too often.”
— Charles Bukowski, Tales of Ordinary Madness