We rode in silence for a while until I finally asked, “So how is Mom doing—how’s Mom?” and Dad turned to me and said, “She’s gone.” He broke into convulsive crying as he drove. l just sat there across from him while he cried. I sat there with my open bottle of tequila in my lap staring out the window at that flat, hot Rhode Island landscape and all of the other air-conditioned cars with their windows closed. l just sat there and didn’t reach out to Dad or say a word. I just sat there with the phrase going over and over in my head, “She’s gone.” She’s gone. And over and over that phrase continued, like the end of a story in a Grimm fairy tale, like when the princess or the queen dies of a broken heart. And it played over and over again, that phrase “She’s gone.” She’s gone—died of a broken heart. She’s gone. She’s gone. She died of a broken heart.
— Spalding Gray, “Impossible Vacation” (via sextruck)
(via sextruck)
Forget it.
Every fuckin’ day of my life.
Harry Potter’s effect on society. I like it.
oh my god every sunday at a park near where i live people play quiddich it’s the weirdest thing ever idk
(via hardmantolove)
