Homenagem Fúnebre

it blows my mind that no matter the time or place, no matter how poor or rich, how happy or sad men were, we have always invented stories. to pass the time, to keep us company, to entertain and to teach; we never run out of characters, never run out of ideas. it's like our very souls can't bear the idea of not creating, of leaving tales untold

illicit affairs and clandestine meetings

I want someone to run with under the rain, someone who wants to paint with me even if painting is not one of their best skills, I want someone to talk to about my favourite character and listening to them talking about theirs. I want someone to stargaze with. I want to share my favourite songs with them. I want someone who likes to talk about space, someone I can have deep conversations with. Someone to talk about art.

1989 (2014)

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

— We will always love more that which is forbidden.

I am not meant for this world. I belong in a thick magical forest, filled with woodland elves, fairy rings, old oaks, werewolves howling at the moon, faeries dancing under waterfalls, and unicorns hidden away- only seen by nymphs. I want to live in a cottage surrounded by falling petals. I want fauns to play their flutes from willow trees. I want to hear the sound of dragons roaring through the sky. I want to make a garden for myself, and make a welcome sign to all the woodland creatures to my cottage of love and magic. I just want to live in a fairy tale and leave this world forever.

“…and I suppose that the reason I hated him was because when someone you love leaves you, you have to hate them to get over them. Because if they don’t want you anymore and you still love them, how do you survive?”

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.

𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐒𝐭𝐲𝐥𝐞𝐬 ♡

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