#Ink’s diary

[dongseeyou]

get acquainted, this is the 503rd

often "loads" and does not show signs of life, but he is quite alive

he had worked with Nightmare in the past, they were companions, now in Dream’s territory, what with him is unknown

Ink writes often in his journal, and he also wrote about 503rd:

«As far as I know, the 503rd was a very good friend of Nigtmare’s, although he won't admit it himself, but I believe it.

We keep looking for evidence of his disappearance, sometimes I feel like he's long gone, Nightmare assures me it's not a waste of time and he feels the 503rd is still alive.

I don't know what happened between them, but I hope it has nothing to do with Dream, it could end badly.»

[bebx]

[incendavery]

worryingly specific

receipt:

[fairydrowning]

"I cannot make you understand. I cannot make anyone understand what is happening inside me. I cannot even explain it to myself."

– Franz Kafka

[ramblingmindofrayyan]

Sometimes it’s really lonely being me.

[zeldacw]

JINSHI. Apothecary Diaries

Ink drawing using brass dip pen. (Gift from Matchapokki. Thank you 💖🐇)

[soul-from-another-era]

If it hurts to love them, it's not love sweetheart. You deserve better.

[alaskaisnothere]

isn't it funny how life is wonderful and messy and hard like one day you are crying your eyes out because you feel lost and the next day you are packing your stuff ready to leave your worries behind and start a new chapter in a different country and then you find all these people who love and support you and you still feel lost and you still have no idea what your life is supposed to look like but you're enjoying pink sunset and book dates at the park and overpriced coffees and maybe you just have to enjoy the breeze without expecting a storm

[poetessurielle999]

"I'd keep hoping to be near you but that's as far as I could get."

As long as I could sense your presense somewhere, I feel satisfied. Perhaps that's also why I'll never be able to close the distance between us—because having you in a distance is enough to keep me happy.

As long as I see your smile, hear the rhythm of your laugh, taste the sweetness of your voice, and dream about what we could've been if we were to last, I... Believe it's fine.

Because I'm not sure if we were meant to be close to each other anyway, so I'll keep hoping to be near you, but that's as far as I could get.

A. "Urielle"

[aliasalias]

even a worm will turn

[literaryvein-reblogs]

When Franz Kafka had "Written Nothing"

24 December 1910. It is midnight, but since I have slept very well, that is an excuse only to the extent that by day I would have written nothing. The burning electric light, the silent house, the darkness outside, the last waking moments, they give me the right to write even if it be only the most miserable stuff. And this right I use hurriedly. That’s the person I am.

28 November 1911. Have written nothing for three days.

07 January 1912. If I should now, in the evening, return to my relatives, I shall, since I have written nothing that I could enjoy, not appear stranger, more despicable, more useless to them than I,do to myself.

25 February 1912. I have written nothing for so long because of having arranged an evening for Löwy in the banquet room of the Jewish Town Hall on 18 February, at which I delivered a little introductory lecture on Yiddish. For two weeks I worried for fear that I could not produce the lecture. On the evening before the lecture I suddenly succeeded.

09 March 1914. I have written nothing for a year, nor shall I be able to write anything in the future; in my head there is and remains the one single thought, and I am devoured by it.

03 November 1914. Since August, the fourth day on which I have written nothing. The letters are the cause of it; I ’ll try to write none at all or only very short ones.

20 December 1921. Undeniably, there is a certain joy in being able calmly to write down: ‘Suffocation is inconceivably horrible.’ Of course it is inconceivable that is why I have written nothing down.

And When He "Wrote Nothing"

31 January 1912. Wrote nothing.

01 June 1912. Wrote nothing.

07 June 1912. Bad. Wrote nothing today. Tomorrow no time.

10 August 1912. Wrote nothing. Was in the factory and breathed gas in the engine-room for two hours. The energy of the foreman and the stoker before the engine, which for some undiscoverable reason will not start. Miserable factory.

13 March 1915. Got up at nine o’clock. Didn’t go home for supper, nor to Max’s either, where there was a gathering tonight. Reasons: lack of appetite, fear of getting back late in the evening; but above all the thought that I wrote nothing yesterday, that I keep getting farther and farther from it, and am in danger of losing everything I have laboriously achieved these past six months.

Excerpts from "The diaries of Franz Kafka 1910-1923"

[bebx]

something about loving someone is giving them the power to break your heart and hoping they will not use it

[xxrrisxx]

I was always ashamed to take. So I gave. It was not a virtue. It was a disguise.

Anais Nin

[timecapsulethoughts]

[ramblingmindofrayyan]

Why am I always so lonely. It hurts. It hurts.

[fairydrowning]

"I am more broken down than recovered. An empty vessel, still intact yet already in the dust among the broken fragments; or already in fragments yet still ranged among those that are intact. Full of lies, hate, and envy. Full of incompetence, stupidity, thickheadedness. Full of laziness, weakness, and helplessness."

– Franz Kafka, Diary Entry for 6 August 1914