There Are Days When My Name Lingers On The Inside Of Your Mouth; Too Reluctant To Be Explicit, Too Obvious

okay but what if i tell you i really like watching you read under the sun or in the rain or all curled up in warm duvet in dark winters by the fire or on a train ride back home? what if i tell you i enjoy watching your eyebrows do their little dance when the author throws another plot twist at your face or the way you bite your lips because you really can't wait to know everything about that one character who really is the hero but isn't given enough credit? what if i tell you i see you when you try to hide behind your smile? what if i tell you it's a privilege to love you?

"I composed a beautiful letter to you in the sleepless nightmare hours of the night, and it has all gone: I just miss you, in a quite simple desperate human way. You, with all your undumb letters, would never write so elementary a phrase as that; perhaps you wouldn’t even feel it. And yet I believe you’ll be sensible of a little gap. But you’d clothe it in so exquisite a phrase that it should lose a little of its reality. Whereas with me it is quite stark: I miss you even more than I could have believed; and I was prepared to miss you a good deal."

Vita Sackville-West to Virginia Woolf

i can tell i'm sleep deprived bc i just made myself cry about tutankhamun and i have, like, negative interest in the kid

your parched roots are set on my wetland heart, i have fed you well after your teeth sunk into my skin and severed my arteries. there are no good endings.

grenade grudges blow up; and there are two casualties.

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.

I am autumn in a tropical country.

I struggle with my identity when you paint me all orange and brown from memory. You make me miss a place I have never lived in, a place you had to leave to find me.

"I cannot make you understand. I cannot make anyone understand what is happening inside me. I cannot even explain it to myself."

-Franz Kafka, The Metamorphosis

I have been falling of the edges again. How many times do you hit the ground till you get used to hard ground hitting your body. How many times you get lost in dark just to know that it changes with time even if not to light, but it does change and you can breathe differently. I am waiting for moment that will set me free. I am wishing on stars once again. I hope their kindness find me so that i can move with ease. I no longer wish to drag myself in life. I want to run free.

Solitude was my only consolation — deep, dark, deathlike solitude.

— Mary W. Shelley

#let the man rest