Me, After Another Night Of Drafting, Editing, Writing, Editing, Editing Again, Some More Editing

“You hold flaws so beautiful, even perfection aches with envy.

No. It aches with desire.

A sickening, damning desire,

That secretly slips to the soles of your feet to devour you whole.”

—— by CarpeVenus (@songs-of-venus)

𝑇h𝑖s i𝑠 𝑚y l𝑎s𝑡 𝑙o𝑣e l𝑒t𝑡e𝑟 𝑡o y𝑜u, 𝑡h𝑜u𝑔h s𝑜m𝑒 𝑤o𝑢l𝑑 𝑐a𝑙l i𝑡 𝑎 𝑐o𝑛f𝑒s𝑠i𝑜n.

I s𝑢p𝑝o𝑠e b𝑜tℎ 𝑎r𝑒 𝑎 𝑠o𝑟t o𝑓 𝑔e𝑛t𝑙e v𝑖o𝑙e𝑛c𝑒, p𝑢t𝑡i𝑛g d𝑜w𝑛 𝑖n i𝑛k wℎa𝑡 𝑠c𝑜r𝑐h𝑒s tℎe a𝑖r wℎe𝑛 𝑠p𝑜k𝑒n a𝑙o𝑢d.

A Dowry of Blood, S.T. Gibson

Tera mujhse hai pehle ka nata koi…

“Do you think the universe fights for souls to be together? Some things are too strange and strong to be coincidences.”

— Emery Allen

Books are letters in bottles, cast into the waves of time, from one person trying to save the world, to another.

- This Is How You Lose The Time War, Max Gladstone & Amal el-Mortar

cuz i’m pretty when i cry

I would rather die in your arms than live a thousand years alone.

I was told there’d be a light at the end of this tunnel.

One more exam. One more application. One more interview. One more job. One more report. One more deadline. Just one more.

You’ve done so much more, so what’s one more?

Just one more.

And then, there’ll be the light. The love. The joy. The praise. All yours by right.

So you go through life, each day piling on top of the next, each morning it gets a little bit harder to breathe, a little bit harder to believe, a little bit harder to choose to live, but you keep going, you keep breathing, you keep believing, you keep trying, cuz you’ve gone through so much more, what’s one more?

Just one more.

So on and on and on we go, chasing the light at the end of this tunnel, but you’re just as far in as you’ll ever be out, and you can’t stop now, its right there, that illusive dream you’re chasing that shimmers on the edges, that keeps you alive, that keeps you waking up every morning, that was promised, because you did so much more, you went through so much more, you can do so much more, of course you’ll get it, you have to, right, you’ve earned it, it’s yours, it’s coming, its right there, don’t you see it, it’s right there, just one more step, one more breath, one more day, one more try. What’s one more?

Just one more.

Sylvia Plath, aged 30, in a letter to Olive Higgins Prouty, her mentor & benefactress, 4 months after discovering her husband's infidelity, and their subsequent separation (dated Tuesday, 20 November 1962)

Me after coming back to this hellsite after 9 years

So many people disregard Camus as cold, detached, cynical.

But I ask you, what is a cynic, if not a broken romantic?

“Find meaning. Distinguish melancholy from sadness. Go out for a walk. It doesn't have to be a romantic walk in the park, spring at its most spectacular moment, flowers and smells and outstanding poetical imagery smoothly transferring you into another world. It doesn't have to be a walk during which you'll have multiple life epiphanies and discover meanings no other brain ever managed to encounter. Do not be afraid of spending quality time by yourself. Find meaning or don't find meaning but "steal" some time and give it freely and exclusively to your own self. Opt for privacy and solitude. That doesn't make you antisocial or cause you to reject the rest of the world. But you need to breathe. And you need to be.”

// Albert Camus, from “Notebooks, 1951-1959”