Actually No, We're Not "dating". We're Bound Together For Infinity. Like The Stars. So, Fuck You, Actually.

— Fyodor Dostoevsky, Crime and Punishment

The way he immediately shies away once a glimpse of his real self is revealed.

The way he literally gets smaller and tries to hide it.

The way it shows how much he is ashamed of his imperfections.

The fact that he doesn’t want Jayce to see it

Heartbreaking.

thank you for being alive to read this, I'm glad you're here

To be honest,

As an autistic person, I wish I'd stop trying to live up to the expectations of neurotypical people. I'd like to say that im pretty confident in myself, but sometimes I forget to put myself first (when it comes to my feelings n wtv) and I end up a mess. It makes me sad. Confident is like a water bottle: sometimes it sways one-way, other times it sways the other way. It deserves to be drank regardless. Does that make sense? Ionno

I was talking with my sister last night and it occurred to me that I write a lot of poetry during liminal and intermundane moments. Late at night before I go to sleep. A moment of mental stress. Immediately after awaking from unconsciousness. Feeling trapped between the past and the future. Longing for the beauty of the unattainable past. Stuck in traffic. Out walking at sunset, almost dying from the freezing cold temperature. Meditation on our childhood in the earth. Outside in a thunder storm. Imagining I was out in the woods. Something eerily like demonic possession. Dancing in the rain. Listening to the night sounds at midnight dejection. Melancholy contemplation in an unlit room. A late night obsession. Out, meditating, on a walk. The shock of a murder. Reading apocalyptic literature.

Humans are intermundane beings; thus it only makes sense that our poetry would be the same.

“I didn’t know what to call it, what was happening between us, but I liked it. It felt silly and fragile and good.”

— Ransom Riggs; Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children

Sappy romantic Shadow and brainrot cringe Sonic

they make me violently ill

It took me a very long time to realize that I had been in a state of mourning after my friend and I stopped talking to each other. This beautiful and heartbreaking essay on the art of loving and losing female friends was a much-needed meditation, and I wanted to share it with you, too.