It's Easier To Move On When You've Been Hurt Than It Is To Look At Yourself In The Mirror When You've

It's easier to move on when you've been hurt than it is to look at yourself in the mirror when you've hurt the same person, the same way twice.

More Posts from Ngelo-b and Others

5 years ago

I don't mean to be creepy, but there's this giggle that people let out when they laugh with someone who truly means something to them. It's all teeth and abdominal muscles. Even the most annoying people are so honest and human and...untouchable; like nothing you do or say in that moment can affect them. I like it. I want it.


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2 years ago

What's all this food-related guilt about?

1 year ago

I don't know what to tell you kid, put your barefeet on the cold grass and let the sun touch your cheek bones and eyelids. You'll live. You'll live.


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1 month ago

I hate that he says hi after 2 years, and I'm right back to daydreaming about laughter in a sunlit kitchen. I hate that so much.

3 years ago
Ijeoma Umebinyuo, From Questions For Ada; “Pain”

Ijeoma Umebinyuo, from Questions for Ada; “Pain”

1 year ago

For years I've been meaning to read A Thousand Splendid Suns. It broke my heart man. This little girl was just born to suffer. That's all she did. She suffered, and then she died.

And, you read quotes and snippets of a book and you think "ow this seems happy-ending-y I'll save it for strange strips of my life." And, then it wrecks you, freaking vivisection the whole thing.


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9 years ago

A winner knows when to stop

On the screen near Debonairs in Montecasino, Johannesburg

9 years ago

When you grow old, your heart dies.

The Breakfast Club

9 years ago

When you know better you do better

Maya Angelou

1 year ago

I want to wear more red. I want hope. I want a sure hand in mine at the march. I want the end of genocides. I want videos of rubble played in reverse sucking magnificent structures from blurred pixels. I want love in my inbox, love in my mouth, love in everyone’s mouths. I want a squeeze of lemon. I want hot. I want fast. I want a small steel cup between my fingers. I want fresh ginger. I want romanticism. I want performance. I want our friends, across the city, in their flats, in their rooms, laughing, the lights on, their voices loud and clear. I want mismatched silverware. I want to stay until close. I want the needle in my skin. I want to be the giver and the receiver. I want the irretrievable. I want butter on thick bred with salt. I want blushing. I want a clear sky, long grass, lying on your stomach with my knees up and my hat pulled over my eyes. I want wet soho streets at 3am reflecting red light. I want stripping down to my t-shirt on the tube. I want late-blooming. I want a mirror ball over our heads. I want a dark room full of smoke. I want you laughing in my mouth. I want abolition. I want thrashing in the crowd dancing screaming. I want the email not to find me. I want a perfect pint of guinness on a freezing day. I want ecstasy. I want the real thing. I want a ming vase filled with pistachio cream. I want poetry. I want greedy greedy hope. I want my one time passcode to be coincidentally meaningful. I want your voice notes. I want ridiculousness. I want tomatoes so fresh they could burst in your hands. I want to walk barefoot on the tiles. I want the collapse of a decade of tory power. I want the next breath to be easy. I want a bag big enough to take what I need. I want olive oil. I want the drum beat on a monotonous loop. I want the city. I want eye contact through warped glass. I want plums in the icebox. I want the smell of fire in the air at night. I want fingers under the waistband. I want one more round before we go. I want red ribbon. I want debris of love. I want a party where no one knows anyone. I want warm water. I want to save you at the end.

Last year I wrote wants rather than resolutions. I liked the piece so this time I sat and wrote whatever came to mind, until I wrote 'end', which felt like a natural place to, well,

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ngelo-b - Rosemallow
Rosemallow

The Peace of Aerodynamics

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