Why is everyone asleep? Why must we be quiet and resting when we can be sleep deprived and be (.) this close to finding something truly breathtaking on some forgotten, neglected corner of the internet or finally have that one conversation with our estranged partners that we have dreaded for too long and be over with the anxiety? Why must we not stir the excitement within when we see someone talk about our favorite tv show which hasn't been watched by many yet? Why are we sleeping? Why are we not holding hands and kissing and confessing our love for one another? Why are we not telling the people we love how difficult isolation was and that every moment of it was lived with a flickering hope that after all of this is a little better we will get to touch, be touched again? Why are we pretending we weren't touch starved? Why are we sleeping when we should be making each other cute keychains that have a picture of our favorite place printed on them?
#let the man rest
who cares how you talk about love? be passionate about it if it lets you unleash the rotting fury on a world that isn't even alive enough to see the colour on your face when you are in love; be bitter if your broken heart pricks you from the inside; be warm about it if it kisses you goodnight; be cold if you are paralyzed by it. tell the world how you feel if that makes you feel lighter. pull a frank gallagher on your love life. be reckless.
and it pisses me off to not have more than 24 hours in my day. i want to watch every movie that made you feel something, every song that gave you a serotonin boost, every book that broke to make you, every poem that made you fall in love a little more, every fuckin thing you ever laid your eyes on- i want to be a part of that. it pisses me off to not have known you when we both were kids: untainted, innocent, fragile but now that we are older, do you believe me?
"and perhaps it is the greater grief, after all, to be left on earth when another is gone."
-Madeline Miller
You ever see a pretty dress, a well-organised notebook, a peculiar balcony or read one line of poetry and get the overwhelming urge to reinvent yourself
i can tell i'm sleep deprived bc i just made myself cry about tutankhamun and i have, like, negative interest in the kid
Solitude was my only consolation — deep, dark, deathlike solitude.
— Mary W. Shelley
Not everyone can afford this madness, i am not tethered to anything, loneliness is a side effect of self medicating,nothing good can come out of infinite apologies;
my tragedy is- my freedom is absolute; it's abandonment at its finest. I am everything my mother warned me not to be.