0044 (by Max Capacity +)
The groove is so mysterious. We’re born with it and we lose it and the world seems to split apart before our eyes into stupid and cool. When we get it back, the world unifies around us, and both stupid and cool fall away.
And so life went on, the adult life he’d helped me embark on, at the price of what forgetting I don’t know, of what defenses and what burden I can’t judge, the same, perhaps, as any life involves just to keep going, the same brutal obstinacy that everyone calls on to walk without stopping past a tramp stretched out on the street, to get on with works and days as soon as they close the newspaper, with the difference that, for me, misfortune, decline, and fear were infinitely close, no need to make an effort to imagine them, it was the rest that seemed abstract to me, the surface I too had learned to save, so much energy expended to seem smooth, normal, standard, to mask the chaos and keep my silent secret, to the point where, as I knew, my performance (like his before) was a little forced, I was afraid, always, of betraying myself, the adult life I was working to weave hung on me like a flimsy, filmy garment, anything could have torn it.
oh my god marry me
OMG I CAN’T HANDLE THIS GIF hot damn he’s so perfect
words can’t even describe him
[INSERT SEVERAL PARAGRAPHS OF SELF-LOATHING PITY-PANDERING HERE]
when you can’t hear what someone says and they repeat it 98 times and you’re still like
From Kenneth Lonergan’s Margaret (2011)