The-whimsical-wizard - Anika

Packing just the necessary basics

i imagine someone saying to aziraphale something about making peace with your demons, and him completely missing the point and just pulling teeny crowley out of his pocket and just going "oh well, I've done more than that, I've made friends with mine 🥰" (vague spoilers in the tags)

The biggest misconception in public schools is that literary analysis is about proving you can be right or wrong about a book you read

Literary analysis isn’t about the book

It’s not even about being right

It’s about performing an investigation and presenting your case to the jury

It doesn’t matter if your defendant killed that guy or not. If you can convince the jury he didn’t, you’ve won

And the incredible life skill of spinning bulletproof bullshit out your ass with a handful of facts and a prayer is soooooooo much more valuable than anyone’s ever gonna tell you

so embarrassing when i forget im checking someone's blog and i start scrolling through and liking and reblogging shit as if it's just my dash. it feels like wandering into someone else's apartment and not noticing and making myself lunch

Mama I don't want kids, I say. For the hundredth time. Mother has this look on her face, it sits still- something between disappointment and bewilderment. But who will take care of you, she says, when you're older? And that is a rotten feeling. To believe that a child is only as good as what it does for its parents. To believe you are only as good as you give. To believe you owe someone, only to feel love. Who deserves this? Who deserves this wretched snarling beast sitting in my chest, whispering, shrieking- give, give, give.

-Ritika Jyala, The Beast that makes me Give

its true that crying wont solve things but we dont cry to solve. we cry to release

are you a philosopher

boy im dumb as shit

Painting Silco in process

Me waking up in the morning: Mm bed soft and comfy

Me refusing to go to bed at a reasonable hour at night: Mm screen bright and funny

How often have I sat in the dim glow of evening and thought, Why must it be this way?

Why must a man suffer simply for being alive? Why must the heart, once open, be beaten down until it is afraid to feel at all?

I have no answers.

No one does.

Still, I wake. Still, I breathe.

Because despite everything, the heart insists on beating, even when the soul has long since grown tired.