Hey Has Anyone Found A Way To Act On Your Desires Without Opening Yourself To Failure

Perhaps the moon was his accomplice, veiling itself behind the mist, mocking her patience, a conspirator in her longing. She waits—o, she does. The night stretches like dark, kohl-lined eyes, with barely any stars, offering no mercy, no light to trace her beloved's face.

The wind weaves through the foliage, whispering and conversing with the gnarled branches of the trees, appearing dark against the velvety night sky, as if sighing with pity at her quiet grief and yearning. Her hands trembled, and her heart paced; the scent of the roses was too harsh and bitter, offering no comfort. The night air stings, and the earth beneath, which clings to her feet, is cold and unyielding, much like the passage of time that refuses to turn in her favor.

He did not show up to loosen the braids of her dark raven hair, the ones in whose knots a silent prayer was whispered. The white jasmines in her tresses fluttered ever so slightly, veiled beneath the golden fabric, which lifted with the wind, but there was no hand to steady it.

She ached for a glimpse of him, a stolen moment to etch in her memory, sweet nothings to remember by heart, and for those silent vigils when he gazed upon the moon, and she would watch him.

She cast off her bangles, the pearls scattering across the floor like forsaken stars, their glimmer and beauty wasted on a night with no beloved.

The hour had betrayed her, the moon had turned its face, and grief, like the night, stretched infinite, offering neither solace nor an end to the waiting.

MUTUAL AID

I'm doing all I can to escape my abusive home, because my mental and physical health has been at an all time low since December. If my work has ever meant anything to you, please consider donating to a disabled trans queer Bengali butch, if you are able to. I don't really want to talk about my personal life right now, because I'm sick of talking about it honestly and it's been horrific since 2023, but I would like a bit of help very much now, instead of just my shitposts and moodboards blowing up.

my trans poetry book collection

my trans sapphic Bengali story from ko-fi

If Indians have problem with Payp*l, you can donate on gpay: sritamasen1905@oksbi

With you

the only thing they're bothered about is lining their pockets and counting their money!!

The orange gang's silence about the kumbh mela disasters reveals their hypocrisy more than anything else does. For something that so deeply concerns the religion that they claim to care about, you would think they would hold the party that claims to work in their interests more accountable? But they're not and everyone knows why that is - they never cared about hindus and hinduism to begin with. All that jazz was and always has been a thinly veiled cover for their hatred of Muslims.

René Lalique, Kiss, Pendant, 1900

i love you fairy tales i love you folklore i love you myths i love you stories as old as humanity itself i love you oral traditions i love you characters carried through time on my ancestors’ tongues i love you story i’ve seen a million ways and want to see a million more i love you archetypes i love—

Beluru, Karnataka

(pics by me pls don't steal)

ON THAT ONE PARTICULAR BRAND OF URBAN LONELINESS

Nigel Van Wieck, Aron Wiesenfeld, Mitski, Holly Warburton, Maïté Grandjouan

duuude you have GOT to get online everybody is just fucking hitting each other