2 Mins Because He Knew I Would Cry For An Hour Out Of Joy. I Am Grateful For Everything In My Life Right

2 mins because he knew I would cry for an hour out of joy. I am grateful for everything in my life right now♥️🧿

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5 months ago

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shunrehihosumedha

4 months ago

I like Live Photo’s sm❤️‍🩹

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shunrehihosumedha

2 weeks ago

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shunrehihosumedha

4 months ago

"tell me it was real, because it was real to me."

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shunrehihosumedha

4 months ago

Anaïs Nin, from a diary entry featured in Trapeze: The Unexpurgated Diary of Anais Nin, 1947-1955

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shunrehihosumedha

1 month ago

I gave you a love so vast it could have swallowed cities whole. I built galaxies in my chest just to make room for you, carved out pieces of my soul and called them home so you would never feel alone. I was there and offering, but you… you only ever loved the echo of me, the shadow I cast in your mind, not the woman who bled herself dry to be enough. You didn’t love me. You loved the idea of being loved by someone like me. And that was the slow undoing.

You were never really there, not when I shattered quietly in rooms we shared, not when I fell asleep hoping you would see me again, not just look at me. I held up the heavens for us while you watched, arms folded, eyes elsewhere. And still, I stayed. Still, I gave. Foolish, maybe. Devoted, definitely.

Now, that it’s all gone. I have crossed oceans of pain to reach a shore where your name doesn’t burn on my skin anymore. I am somewhere better, freer, lighter. And just when I have stitched myself together with gold thread and midnight prayers, you come back.

You come back with a whisper of apology, a handful of words you never had the courage to speak when I was drowning right in front of you. Why now? Why always after?

It is the cruel theater of time, isn’t it? The final act where ghosts knock at your door once you have already exorcised them. People see your worth only in absence, crave your presence only when it is no longer a gift they are entitled to. Love should never be a posthumous award.

And yet, here I am, haunted not by you, but by the echo of who I was when I loved you. And that is the deepest ache of all.

(Darjeeling’22)

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shunrehihosumedha

4 weeks ago

Hans, The Mermaid's Son, from Andrew Lang's The Pink Fairy Book by Henry Justice Ford (1897)

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shunrehihosumedha

4 months ago

She loves her dad more than me istg

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shunrehihosumedha

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