
Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals. (via ahhllayne)
After a classmate’s death by suicide, I kept feeling like this: that there was always something for me to connect or discover or come to terms with about it. I thought that it would be my own experiences with what she had suffered, but I think that it was more time passing. Or that I went back to campus the weekend she had died - the first week of December, which to me always means first snow.
(Source: restlessasthetarantula, via robot-heart)
After a classmate’s death by suicide, I kept feeling like this: that there was always something for me to connect or...