Imagine reading a book of every conversation where people have spoken about you.
Obsessively,
Incessantly,
With maddening hunger.
I’d write to the point of suffocation.
I’d write myself into nervous breakdowns,
Manuscripts spiralling out like tentacles into abysmal nothing.
And I’d write about you
a lot more
than I should.
Benedict Smith, I Wish I Wrote The Way I Thought (via erraticintrovert)
Yup.
(via catalinaj7x)
(Source: benedictsmith)
