the love i deserve.

everything is beautiful and nothing hurts

[awellordereduniverse]

I just feel like very little in my life is ever going to make up for the absolute anguish and bone deep sense of loneliness I have felt for years. How is anything ever going to justify that level of pain?

[awellordereduniverse]

What if I can’t find a way to properly articulate all the bad things that have happened to me? What if I can’t tell them and so they never know who I am?

[awellordereduniverse]

Still hurts to read this.

[fridayiminlovemp3]

[awellordereduniverse]

You can never visit the same place twice. Each time, it’s a different story. By the very act of coming back, you wipe out what came before. - Maureen Johnson

[awellordereduniverse]

[awellordereduniverse]

[awellordereduniverse]

[awellordereduniverse]

[awellordereduniverse]

I am sick and tired of writing about loneliness, but rarely do I identify with anything else.

[awellordereduniverse]

god. I love the stuff I find on tiktok.

[awellordereduniverse]

[awellordereduniverse]

[awellordereduniverse]

What if I can’t find a way to properly articulate all the bad things that have happened to me? What if I can’t tell them and so they never know who I am?

[awellordereduniverse]

The woods are peaceful.

The great oaks and evergreens fill the air with their scents. They supply me with all of the things I need. Most of the things I need.

The rest of it can’t come from the woods, although I wish it could.

My heart would be as full of my lungs if I could simply breathe in love as well as just oxygen.

But then the trees around me would be cluttered, full of people longing for something they have never felt.

Wishing for something I’m not sure I would even recognize if I felt it.

Is this love?

Is this the lack of it?

Will I be happy if I have love?

Would people love me if I was happy?

[awellordereduniverse]

I’m already missing you. That’s the problem. I’m already grieving for everything that we will never get to do together. Erasing you from all of the images of my future I’ve created. And it hurts like nothing else I have ever experienced. It’s never going to be enough, all the time we have. It will never be enough. 

Sometimes all this hurt isn’t there, and I can see you and it’s fine, it’s normal. But then sometimes it just feels like the whole time I’m holding on so tight to what’s in front of me, knowing that it’s slipping through my fingers. 

I’m going to spend the rest of my life missing you. 

[awellordereduniverse]

“I think that if I changed it all, it would feel like hell”

found this old line I wrote a few years ago. Maybe thats why the past few years have been such hell, because I've been changing. From who I was, into someone who I can understand. Trying to grow up as a women in this world isn't easy. But trying to grow up while also trying to find a reason everyday to stay alive, is really fucking hard. I want to know who I am, and I want to not hate her. I want to feel like I don’t have to walk on eggshells around myself. I want to embrace change, especially when its for the better. But how can I tell the difference between process and regression? Or actual change and something that looks different but is the exact same? I went on in that same poem to write “the best times always end.” They do, but they also don’t. Thats what I'm beginning to learn and experience. All of the times I enjoy are still happening even after they are over, they are happening in my memory, and in the echo of their existence. And thats something. 

[awellordereduniverse]

I miss the days when the quiet didn’t freak me out. 

When I didn’t feel lonely the second any noise stopped. 

When my heartbeat was my companion, not my enemy.

I miss the days when I didn’t know what it felt like to feel this feeling.