A Lost Scene From Acomaf

It’s weird .physically I’m in my teens but mentally- spiritually if you will, I feel so old. So so old. As though I’ve lived a thousand lives and experienced a thousand scenarios each leaving me exhausted by the end . I feel the weight of all those lives sometimes; When I’m alone in my room . Gaze switching between each wall and then finally , meeting my ceiling-Where my mind explodes with thoughts while simultaneously remaining eerily barren.quite.empty.

your hologram 👾👻 stumbled 🫨 into my apartment 🌃 hands 🙌 in the hair 💆‍♀️ of somebody 💏 in darkness 🌫️😶‍🌫️ named Chloe 💆‍♀️ or Sam 💆 or Sophia 💆‍♀️ or Marcus 💆‍♂️ and I. just. ʷᵃᵗᶜʰᵉᵈ 👀. it happen 💏🧍‍♀️. as the decade 📆 would play us for fools 🃏🤝🃏 and you saw 👀 my bones 💀🤝💀 out 💃🕺 with somebody new 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👨 who seemed like 🤔 he would've bullied you 🤓🥊🤣 in school 🤕🏫 and you. just. ʷᵃᵗᶜʰᵉᵈ 👀. it happen 🫂🧍‍♂️. if you wanna break 💔🔨🤬 my cold 🤧 cold 🥶 heart 💙 just say, 🗣️"I loved you 🥰…the way that you were 😕🤷‍♂️” if you wanna tear 🫱💔🤏 my world 🫱🌎🤏 apart 🫱💥🤏 just say you've always…woOondered 🤔💭👩‍❤️‍💋‍👨…you said some things 🗣️🗯️ that I can't 🙅‍♀️ unabsorb 🗣️🗯️🧽 you turned me into an idea of sorts 🧍‍♀️🟰🤔💭😇🪽 you needed me 🫂 but you needed drugs more 🤷‍♀️ and I could-n't. 🙅‍♀️. ʷᵃᵗᶜʰ 🫣. it happen. I changed into goddesses 🧝‍♀️ villains 🦹‍♀️ and fools 🤡🎨🖌️ changed plans 🇬🇧✈️🗽 and lovers 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👨👩‍❤️‍💋‍👨👩‍❤️‍💋‍👨 and outfits 👩🏼‍🦱👱🏻‍♀️💇🏼‍♀️👩🏻‍🦳👩🏼 and rules 📏👸 all to outrun 🏃‍♀️💨 my desertion of you 🏃‍♀️💨🏝️ and you. just. ʷᵃᵗᶜʰᵉᵈ 👀. it 🏃‍♀️💨🏝️🧍‍♂️. if you wanna break 💔🔨🤬 my cold 🤧 cold 🥶 heart 💙 just say, 🗣️"I loved you 🥰…the way that you were 😕🤷‍♂️” if you wanna tear 🫱💔🤏 my world 🫱🌎🤏 apart 🫱💥🤏 just say you've always…woOoOondered 🤔💭 if the glint in my eye ✨👁️ traced the depths ✏️🗺️🤿 of your sigh ✏️🗺️😮‍💨 down that passage ⬇️ in time ⌛️ back to the moment ⏳⏪ I crashed into you 🧍‍♂️💥🏃‍♀️ like so many wrecks do 🏝️💥🚢 too impaired by my youth 👼 to know what to do 🤷‍♀️❓ so if I sell my apartment 🌃💸 and you have some kids 👶👧🧒👦 with an internet starlet 🤵‍♂️🤰🤳🏻 will that make your memory 🤔💭❤️‍🔥 fade from this scarlet maroon 🤔💭😶‍🌫️ like it never happened? 🤷‍♀️💭🌫️ could it be enough 🤔 to just float in your orbit? 👩‍🚀🪐🧍‍♂️can we watch our phantoms 🧍‍♂️👻❤️‍🔥👻🧍‍♀️like watching wild horses? 🧍‍♂️🐎🐎🧍‍♀️ cooler 😎 in theory 👩‍🔬💭 but not if you force it to be 🫸🧍‍♂️🧍‍♀️🫷it just didn't happen 🤷‍♀️ so, if you wanna break 💔🔨🤬 my cold 🤧 cold 🥶 heart 💙…..say you loved me 😞…….and if you wanna tear 🫱💔🤏 my world 🫱🌎🤏 apart 🫱💥🤏 say you'll always…woOoOonder 🤔💭………………….'cause I woOoOooonder 😞💭…….will I always…will I always…..won-der? 🤷‍♀️💭🌫️

💚👑LYSANDRA👑💚

If you repost it on Instagram, please give full credit to @_manon_blackbeak(me), thank you🖤

Picture this: It's a rainy day. You're sat in a quaint quiet cafe filled with oddities and knick knacks, and large bay windows that look out onto a cobbled street of a small European city. You watch people run about, doing their errands, darting in and out of shops, with their umbrellas bobbing up and down in their haste. The sweet foamy coffee you're sipping on from a vintage porcelain cup warms your insides. There is an innate sense of calm and tranquility as you sit there watching the world exist, and for a brief moment, time simply stops.

books?? amazing. paperbacks?? soft, cozy, may fit in your pocket, cheap so you don’t feel bad for taking notes in them. hardcovers??? beautiful, pristine, ground you into the world they hold by making you grip them tighter, the stars of every bookshelf. ebooks?? convenient, cheap, always with you, a vast library that you can hold in your palm. new books?? crisp, the smell of wood, ideas waiting to imprint themselves upon the world. old books?? objects transcending history, sweet smelling, enriched by the hands that stroked their pages. books.

"Dark academic?" More like "someone please help me holy shit I can't continue living like this and the only thing keeping me from falling off my rocker is literature."

like 🍉

De: Fernando Sabino

Para: Clarice Lispector

Nova York, 10 de junho de 1946

Clarice,

Esta é a quarta carta que inicio para responder a sua. Ainda ontem me lembrei muito de você, porque um america­no me perguntou se o meu relógio era suíço. A Suíça existe mesmo? Daqui de Nova York não posso te contar nada além do que você calcula. Tenho sentido muita fal­ta de seu livro que deixei no Brasil, para plagiar uns pedaços quando vou escrever o meu. Tenho tido muitas dores de cabeça. Tenho tido muitos pesadelos. Tenho tido muito pouco dinheiro. Tenho tido muitas oportunidades de ficar calado. Tenho tido muita decepção com os Correios. Tenho tido can­saço, saudade e calma. Tenho bebido muito, muito, muito. Tenho lido os suplementos dominicais. Tenho tido vontade de voltar. Tenho xingado muito o Getúlio. Tenho tido muito medo de morrer. Tenho tido muita pena de Helena ter se casado comigo. Tenho tido muita vontade de voltar a brincar. Clarice, estou perdido no meio de tantos particípios passados. Estou com vontade de fumar e o meu cigarro acabou, estou com vonta­de de namorar de tarde numa pracinha cheia de árvores. Só de pensar que você estará lendo esta carta muitos dias depois de ter sido escrita me dá vontade de não mandar, mas mando. Me escreva, que responderei imediatamente. Como vai indo o seu livro? O que é que você faz às três horas da tarde? Quero saber tudo, tudo. Me escreva uma carta de sete páginas, Clarice.

Fernando.

i want to be your favourite hoodie. i'll make you feel warm and comfortable, i promise not to scratch your skin or be stained with lies. i want you to wear me all the time, around the house, out to dinner, to the movies or even while you sleep. i want you to wear me in front of your friends and families and in front of strangers, because i am your favorite hoodie and you want everyone to know that.

I’m having a hard time accepting death as I remain alive. I watch my loved ones go but where does my love for them go? I feel it leaving me trying to nest in undeserving places. These other people don’t know what to do with it. I feel it trying to return back to me but I cannot keep it, it does not belong to me. It belongs with them, the ones who are already gone. So I let it get swallowed up by the earth, bits of me I will never get back. I am only a fraction, I carry a hidden life by the side of my life.

Dara Karadag