I'm A Master Of Speaking Silently. All My Life I've Spoken Silently And I've Lived Through Entire Tragedies

been thinking a lot about anticipatory grief lately. i love you so much that i know losing you will devastate me. i haven't lost you yet but i already miss you. we still have time, but it won't be enough. i think about what i would say at your funeral, and say some of it to you now cause i need you to know how loved you are before you go. you will go where i cannot follow, but you will never really leave me. it won't make it hurt less but it is a part of healing somehow.

I can’t stop thinking about how perfectly Barbie portrays girlhood and growing up… How you’re born in a perfect pink world, where you make the rules and get to prioritise whimsies and friendship and beauty, and then you notice something has changed, you discover that something is wrong with you, and you’re offered an illusion of choice, but even if you’d rather keep wearing your heels and go home and be safe and comfortable, you have to choose the Birkenstock, you have to leave your home, you have to grow up. So you’re thrust into this gritty, unfeeling world, where you’re scrutinised and suppressed, where you want to disappear into yourself, because everything is harsh and big and you are tiny and fragile and inadequate. And as overwhelming and impossible as it seems, you survive it. You find truth in the things you believed in when you were young, the inherent good in humanity, connection and love; your friends who look at you while you are crying, and tell you that they cannot imagine what it is that you do not like about yourself.

taylor swift was literally so accurate when she wrote gold rush because i don’t like anticipating my face in a red flush and i don’t like that anyone would die to feel your flush cause everybody wants you and everybody wonders what it would be like to love you and walk past quick brush and i don’t like slow motion double vision in rose blush and i don’t like that falling feels like flying till bone crush and everybody wants you but i don’t like a gold rush

Nothing can cure the soul but the senses, just as nothing can cure the senses but the soul.

- the picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde

You're trying not to tell him you love him, and you're trying to choke down the feeling, and you're trembling, but he reaches over and he touches you, like a prayer for which no words exist, and you feel your heart taking root in your body, like you've discovered something you don't even have a name for.

having an imagination like mine is a wonder and a curse. i feel so much and create so much but most of what it chooses to do is create an alternate reality for me to hide in. a world where i get everything i want and i have become everything i have ever wanted to be and i am beautiful and witty and smart and impressive and sparkling. but the funniest part of all is that i suffer there too. sometimes even more than i do here. but the difference is that, in my head, someone is there to hold me.

"Well, of course I’ve tried lavender. And pulling my memory out, ribbonlike and dripping. And shrieking into my pillow. And writing the poems. And making more friends. And baking warm brown cookies. And therapy. And intimacy. And pictures of rainbows. And all of the movies about lovers and the terrible things they do to each other. And watching the ones in other languages. And leaving the subtitles off. And listening to the language. And forgetting my name. And feeling the dirt on my skin. And screaming in the shower. And changing my shampoo. And living alone. And cutting my hair. And buying a turtle. And petting the cat. And traveling. And writing more poems. And touching a different body. And digging a grave. And digging a grave. Of course, I’ve tried it. Of course I have."

– Yasmin Belkhyr

I think it’s beautiful, the way you sparkle, when you talk about, the things you love.

- Atticus Poetry, Love Her Wild

The true blasphemy of literature is the romanticization of romance. They make it beautiful—all soft words, and elegant lines—and enchanting, with magic sparkling in the margins.

And you can feel it in the depths of your soul, an unexplored ocean of laughter and tears and dreams all melded together.

The yearning of a kiss that brushes against the steady and so so warm pulsing beat of life—against the smooth skin of a lovers neck. The desperation to touch another being and feel that they’re alive, right there next to you—right there, and never leaving.

To love and be loved is a jewel among treasures and all that we each seek—all that we each desire.

It burns and it burns and it burns.

“I would know him in death, at the end of the world.”

“Come home and break my heart, if you must.”

“Occasionally, Fate pulls itself together again and Time is always waiting.”

“And perhaps it is the greatest grief, after all, to be left on earth when another is gone.”

“By you, I am forever undone.”

“One word from you shall silence me forever.”

“A heart’s a heavy burden.”

“My sweet nemesis.”

“If you have to go, you know I will go with you.”

and then?

and then.

The book is over.

And you remember that love like that doesn't exist.

Not in the real world.

And all you can do is cry.