Idk But Do You Guys Ever Look Up From Reading A Book And Get Disoriented Because You’re Actually In

the amount of relativity this post has to me

“I write because I’m poor, I write because words are all I own, I write because I’m tired of hollow talk”

INFP Confession #1

Yes, I love deeply. Be it a person, be it a thing, be it a character, if I say I love them it means I love them. And when I love someone, I can be the cheesiest person ever. Like, I would write long, long (unsent) letters to them, make moodboards, or describe their aesthetics, imagine scenarios with them, write poetries or stories based on them or make art or do-whatever-i-can-dedicated-to-them.

But most of the time, I am scared to express these intense feelings to others hence I pour it out on characters. So if a character reminds me of someone I like/admire, he/she has to get ready for a flurry of emotions dedicated to them.

do you ever get in those moods where you don’t feel like reading and you don’t feel like being on the internet and you don’t feel like watching a show and you don’t feel like sleeping and you don’t feel like existing in general

“I know I’m not easy to love. I’m a chronic over-thinker. I overreact more than I should…And every once in a while, I might be a little insecure. But if I am in love with you, I can promise you wholeheartedly that you will be loved with so much passion and intensity that you’ll forget what life felt like before I came along. You will always be cared for and you will always have someone in your corner. Maybe I’m not the best at being loved - But I like to think I’m pretty good at loving.”

— Chelsea Carroll

doesn't it feels like authenticity is missing in our age's work and art. like yes, its beautiful but the essence of originality is absent and its defying the art's virtue

okay, who took my diary??

“my child is fine” your child romanticizes getting lost in a forest.

poem: my favorite book

i let you borrow my book

and i am still waiting for it back—

i wonder if you are too afraid

to tell me that you have lost it,

or if you are still reading it and

only got distracted—

does it sit on your shelf gaining dust

like it did on mine till you borrowed it,

are you reading the notes i etched in margins,

are you writing your own?

did you wonder how the spine got so cracked,

how much i must have loved it,

and how i let it go to you

all the same—

it has been months since you took it from

my grasp,

and even though there is no time limit

on its return,

i just want to know,

do you enjoy

my favorite book?

-j.g. edge

*me, flirting* so which songs are you going to permanently associate with me?

Faceless bodies → Whisper of the Heart (1995)

concept: me, laying in the sun on the softest grass imaginable. i have nowhere to go, no one to be