Sometimes at night I suddenly become aware of all the things I’m missing out on right now, and all the people who I’m not close to anymore, and all of the good times that will never happen again, and all the people who meant the world to me who have forgotten about me forever, and I get this awful feeling that’s kind of like a mix between loneliness and nostalgia.
what if someone wrote a book and the plot was basically amazing and the characters were awesome and at the end of the book, you’re dying to know what happens, all you see is a ripped page and the author actually did it on purpose and you’ll never know what happens because all the other published copies are like that too
calm down satan
Time to play a new game:
Make sure John Green doesn’t find the thing