— We Will Always Love More That Which Is Forbidden.

“I can listen no longer in silence. I must speak to you by such means as are within my reach. You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope. Tell me not that I am too late, that such precious feelings are gone for ever. I offer myself to you again with a heart even more your own than when you almost broke it, eight years and a half ago. Dare not say that man forgets sooner than woman, that his love has an earlier death. I have loved none but you. Unjust I may have been, weak and resentful I have been, but never inconstant. You alone have brought me to Bath. For you alone, I think and plan. Have you not seen this? Can you fail to have understood my wishes? I had not waited even these ten days, could I have read your feelings, as I think you must have penetrated mine. I can hardly write. I am every instant hearing something which overpowers me. You sink your voice, but I can distinguish the tones of that voice when they would be lost on others. Too good, too excellent creature! You do us justice, indeed. You do believe that there is true attachment and constancy among men. Believe it to be most fervent, most undeviating, in F. W. I must go, uncertain of my fate; but I shall return hither, or follow your party, as soon as possible. A word, a look, will be enough to decide whether I enter your father’s house this evening or never.” 

  ―Jane Austen, Persuasion    

i just want to be one of those cute, aesthetically pleasing readers who’ve got their cardigans on and sip on their tea while reading by the fireplace but i always end up looking like a hot mess with my big stained hoodie, tied-up hair and dried up tears, trying to find good lighting at 3am so i can make out what i’m reading

I run from place to place, wanting to belong, wanting to find a home. When will I learn that my home is within me and it comes with me everywhere I go?

i'm sitting on my bed reading. it’s almost midnight. it’s summer. my window is open and the cool wind is blowing. it's cloudy but i can see the moon shining through the clouds. the crickets are very loud but very soothing. my room smells dusty and warm and no one else exists. the feeling never goes away. everything is quiet and i'm at peace.

you know i think about people sometimes, like if they listen to the same music as me, how they have their coffee, do they like this movie my friend is taking about all the time and if they like butter on their toast, if they eat chocolate late at night in the dark. i think about whether they’re afraid of the same things as i am and whether they cry like me at every little inconvenience, whether they’re chasing dreams everyday, whether they like edgar allan poe or not, whether they miss someone, if they prefer dogs over cats, whether they like to read, i think about the scars they have on their bodies and the light that shines bright in their eyes. i think about whether they wear socks to bed or if they sneak out of their house at midnight. so if you ever wonder that nobody thinks about you then maybe you're wrong, because i do.

You know what I liked about snyder’s justice league? That at the end of the day, Batman was about hope and faith. We’re so used to this dark brooding character that they try to portray but Batman is about a little boy wanting to change the world, to try and protect anyone from hurting the way he hurt and for having faith in people and the world to be good. Superman’s symbol may stand for hope, but all of Bruce Wayne stands for it too.

the fact that i'm not in some alternate universe where i go to this school wearing pretty clothes, i'm creeping down it's hallways on a rainy day and me and my friends are dancing in circles as fellow students sing pretentious poetry and this pretty stranger is falling in love with me because i'm constantly saying strange and unpleasant things (which are a part of my charm) is so fucked up.

As pessoas querem justificar/julgar o amor entre duas pessoas do mesmo sexo usando religião, biologia, filosofia, sociologia, história, física, química, português, inglês, matemática, espanhol, arte, astrologia […] Amor é amor, ninguém explica o amor.

— Amor, sublime amor.

i keep thinking about digital ghosts. or maybe digital hauntings would be a better term. the final messages shared between you and someone you no longer speak to, for whatever reason. a webpage, or blog post, or inactive profile on a social media forum that you still return to sometimes, no longer even hoping for something to have changed, just to remember, like returning to a grave year after year. video and audio recordings of people who've left your life that you play back over and over until the tape wears out. in the realm of the more fantastical, maybe a hologram that bears their likeness but only a pale, shallow imitation of their complexity, their personality, or an AI or other imperfect replica built on a lifetime of data collected from them that only reinforces their absence but is all you have left to remember (or replace until you forget the difference) them by. all these records that they existed that will inevitably only last as long as the technology that supports them takes to become obsolete, or the data corrupts and begins to break down, or the archives storing it are no longer hosted anywhere. you haven't cheated death, or the grief that comes with losing someone. you've just prolonged it.

“Quando me perguntarem do que eu mais gostei, vou dizer que foi de você.”

— Cidade dos Anjos.