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“gays whats your favourite sitting posistion?”

me: “yes”

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It’s October 3rd.

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p…….please…………

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can u imagine being admitted to the hospital in house cos ur half-dead from the worlds most obscure disease and youre lying in bed dying and you cant even do that in peace cos every five minutes house’s little club comes back in to do another round of random tests while gossiping about their deep psychological issues and if thats not painful enough one of them is australian and you have to listen to that. and just when u think u can finally slip away gracefully some old dude comes in and switches off your life support and yells at you for not telling him you tripped on a loose floorboard and broke a nail when you were seven like just let me go bro. im done

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once everything smooths out after the paintings are returned, they both go back to hobie’s for a while. theo works out all of the issues with the fraudulent furniture, buying it back when he can with the reward money and doing his best to repair his reputation and make sure everyone knows that hobie had nothing to do with it. (plus, it helps that theo’s new sales partner is an extremely charming and handsome young man with a wonderful accent who manages to brighten every conversation even if he knows jack shit about antiques).

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I was still babbling when Boris said: “Potter.” Before I could answer him he put both hands on my face and kissed me on the mouth. And while I stood blinking — it was over almost before I knew what had happened <…> We stood looking at each other — me breathing hard, completely stunned. “Good luck,” said Boris. “I won’t forget you.”  Later — in the cab, and afterward — I would replay that moment, and marvel that I’d waved and walked away quite so casually. Why hadn’t I grabbed his arm and begged him one last time to get in the car, come on, fuck it Boris, just like skipping school, we’ll be eating breakfast over cornfields when the sun comes up? I knew him well enough to know that if you asked him the right way, at the right moment, he would do almost anything; and in the very act of turning away I knew he would have run after me and hopped in the car laughing if I’d asked one last time. But I didn’t. And, in truth, it was maybe better that I didn’t — I say that now, though it was something I regretted bitterly for a while. More than anything I was relieved that in my unfamiliar babbling-and-wanting-to-talk state I’d stopped myself from blurting the thing on the edge of my tongue, the thing I’d never said, even though it was something we both knew well enough without me saying it out loud to him in the street — which was, of course,

                                                                      I LOVE YOU. 

The Goldfinch by Donna Tartt // The Goldfinch (2019) dir. John Crowley

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‪My decision to start reading Call Me By Your Name in order to distract myself from thinking about Theo and Boris in The Goldfinch has backfired spectacularly.‬

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“And yet I thought of him almost every day. The Russian novels I had to read for school reminded me of him; Russian novels, and Seven Pillars of Wisdom, and so too the Lower East Side - tattoo parlors and pierogi shops, pot in the air, old Polish ladies swaying side by side with grocery bags and kids smoking in the doorways of bars along Second Avenue.” - Donna Tartt, The Goldfinch (video credit: @humbuckery​)

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theo ODs in his hotel in amsterdam and boris is there, deus ex ukrainia, and he props theo up and drags him to the bathroom to throw up and hauls him outside and they’re both rail thin so they’re falling all over, into the walls, each other, Boris going “no no no keep going” softly and they get outside into the snow and he says “you have to walk” and marches theo, staggering, back and forth and back until the sun rises, and boris loops his arms beneath theo and hauls him to a diner and in tears professes that fate brought them together and the painting back, and other paintings, too, and merry Christmas, Potter, and boris has tears streaming down his face and theo puts his hands atop his and if that’s not pure love

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the goldfinch: a summary

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I literally can not stop thinking about Theo and Boris... this film has broken me.

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Me, waiting for my film industry friend to see The Goldfinch, so she can tell me how much of a disaster it is

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stanley bringing the losers shower caps to protect them from getting spiders in their hair and seeing all the losers wearing them

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this tweet is making me lose my mind