Aphae’s Aphorisms

[aphaeaphorisms]

why do i have to feel things too deeply

[nixscriptum]

[aphaeaphorisms]

if i kept a gratitude journal, all the pages will just have your name in it.

[vesperslibrary]

It’s not talked about enough how extreme anxiety and depression can cause significant memory loss—not the kind where you don’t remember what you did when you were one, but the kind where you don’t remember anything from just a year or two ago. It feels as though someone wiped your memory clean. You’re left with vague fragments, maybe a few major events, and even those feel uncertain—like you’re not sure if they truly happened or if your mind made them up. It’s terrifying to not remember who you used to be, to feel disconnected from your own timeline. There’s a strange kind of grief in forgetting yourself, in mourning someone you can’t fully recall, and it quietly seeps into every part of your healing.

-vesper

[aphaeaphorisms]

i am not religious, but every night before i sleep, i pray to god that you are the one.

not to ask him, but to tell him out loud that you’re the one i am choosing, just in case he had another plan.

[positiveconnector]

[remembertheplunge]

Yes!

[vesperslibrary]

Oh, to be loved by a writer only sounds nice when you're not the one on the receiving end. Do you know how many sleepless nights it takes to engrave the memory of someone you love on paper, to attempt to describe the way their laugh made you sigh in contentment, as if for the first time your heart was in safe hands? The tear-soaked pages curled into balls and were thrown in the dustbin because writing about them physically hurt, yet there was no other way to let the pain out. You'd fill every space in your diary with descriptions of the hearts they carried in their eyes, the stardust in their hair, or how their freckles were kisses from the divine. The urge to absolutely lose yourself in their memories and be high on the way eyes would only look for you in a room full of people, or get drunk on the sound of their voice, how it would only soften for you, or the way their body perfectly molded into yours, as if it could never know any other home than your arms.

-vesper

[letsbelonelytogetherr]

— nivi; my fetish is to go to war (via authornivi)

[aphaeaphorisms]

“ideally, dreams come first and relationship second”

that is true. however, with you my dear, i get to write as i love you and i get to love you as i write.

isn’t that ideal too?

[paper-wounds]

[vampurrss]

this..

[aphaeaphorisms]

‘yesterday’ can present itself as a tattered painting in a hidden corner of the museum. i could just walk past by and give it a quick glance. i could also remain tethered and crane my neck as i continue exploring. going through the latter, however, would only entail pain; one that i might transmit through my hand held by yours.

it is a choice.

i am hoping it is.

[aphaeaphorisms]

you told me that i am important to you. meanwhile, your figure appears in the images of my future.

under the same roof, i write as you paint.

on the same spot, i point you to the overlooking horizon.

in the same bowl, we take a spoonful of yogurt.

from the same glass, we drink the red wine.

[watchoutforintellect]

“A poem…begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness.”

— Robert Frost - from a letter to Louis Untermeyer (1 January 1916)

[aphaeaphorisms]

on writing

[aphaeaphorisms]

drown my soul with your phrases,

or write me as your favorite line.

keep me between the pages,

and come find me as your rhyme.

you may explore my cover with your fingers,

and not worry about breaking the spine.

for i trust that i won't rot in the corner,

shall i remain in your bedside.

[letsbelonelytogetherr]

— sylvia plath (via letsbelonelytogetherr)

[aphaeaphorisms]

if i’d be spiraling, i’ll only go down to the thought of your love. for i find myself falling deeper each day.