I Bet You Thought Your Life Would Change. But You're Sat On A Train Again. Your Memories Are Sceneries.

“’Jane, be still; don’t struggle so like a wild, frantic bird, that is rending its own plumage in its desperation.’ ‘I am no bird; and no net ensnares me; I am a free human being, with an independent will; which I now exert to leave you.’” -Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre “I’ll walk where my own nature would be leading: It vexes me to choose another guide.” -Emily Brontë I love the Brontë sisters. This is probably one of the most marked-up, underlined, highlighted books that I own. I am always finding passages that pierce through me, gripping me with the perfect expression of thoughts and feelings I have felt deeply but never been able to unfetter with words.

You know what the saddest thing is? You showed him the deepest corners of your soul. But he closed up like you never fucking happened. His fingertips lingered on your skin. You got so lost in his ocean eyes and his magical touch. The little mischievous smile he put on as he stroked your hair like you were his one and only. The way he pulled you into his arms. You were all his. Divine kisses through your body set you on fire. Every grip was holy — every whisper was celestial — every word felt like love — every dot was connected — every emotion was raw. The world stopped just for us, two lovebirds sharing the same heart beat and rhythm. “ilysm. Souls collided and divided. And now you’re stranded. Silence of his is too damn deafening. Theft of heart. Theft of joy. “ifmy.”

Please don’t break.

#July

if you can’t convince them, confuse them.

Elaine Feinstein, from Collected Poems and Translations; “Muse for E. T.,”

“it is only a bruise”

— Leo Tolstoy

let go.