Ava

A chaotic mess immersed in books.

[extrasad]

I love winter I hope I freeze to death

[feral-ballad]

Andrew McMillan, from Pandemonium; “swan”

[Text ID: “mother don’t eat me / mother I’m trying so hard / to get better”]

[weltenwellen]

May Sarton, Journal of a Solitude

[qalbtalk-deactivated20231105]

jab jab phool khile (1965) // baharain phir bhi aayengi (1966) // aradhna (1969) // ghungru ki awaaz (1981) // dil wale dulhaniya le jayenge (1995) // pyaar tou hona hi tha (1998) // tamasha (2015) // ae dil hai mushkil (2016)

[metamorphesque]

― Haruki Murakami, After Dark

[text ID: The silence is so deep it hurts our ears.]

[azert555-deactivated20250911]

Cheminement cérébral

[feral-ballad]

Grief is a cruel kind of education. You learn how ungentle mourning can be, how full of anger. You learn how glib condolences can feel. You learn how much grief is about language, the failure of language and the grasping for language.

Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, from Notes on Grief

[diabolicjoy]

on solitude

my first little animations i made during the beginning of the pandemic

[shisasan]

𝙰𝚞𝚐𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝟸𝟿, 𝟷𝟿𝟷𝟺 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙳𝚒𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝙾𝚏 𝙵𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚣 𝙺𝚊𝚏𝚔𝚊, 𝟷𝟿𝟷𝟺-𝟷𝟿𝟸𝟹

[ID: August 29. The end of one chapter a failure; another chapter, which began beautifully, I shall hardly-or rather certainly not-be able to continue as beautifully, while at the time, during the night, I should certainly have succeeded with it. But I must not forsake myself, I am entirely alone. END ID]

[shisasan]

𝙰𝚞𝚐𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝟹𝟶, 𝟷𝟿𝟷𝟺 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙳𝚒𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝙾𝚏 𝙵𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚣 𝙺𝚊𝚏𝚔𝚊, 𝟷𝟿𝟷𝟺-𝟷𝟿𝟸𝟹

[ID: August 30. Cold and empty. END ID]

[lifeinpoetry]

My whole life someone told me to be a weapon, when all I wanted was to weep.

— Azura Tyabji & Jackson Neal, from “Black Fire Ballad (I Feel Most Evil in My Mother’s Gowns),” Teen Titans, Dear Azula, I Have a Crush on Danny Phantom

[theoptia]

Marguerite Duras, from The Lover

Text ID: I feel a sadness I expected and which comes only from myself. I say I’ve always been sad. That I can see the same sadness in photos of myself when I was small. That today, recognizing it as the sadness I’ve always had, I could almost call it by my own name, it’s so like me.

[shisasan]

𝙰𝚞𝚐𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝟸𝟶, 𝟷𝟿𝟷𝟷 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙳𝚒𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝙾𝚏 𝙵𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚣 𝙺𝚊𝚏𝚔𝚊, 𝟷𝟿𝟷𝟶 -𝟷𝟿𝟷𝟹

[ID: August 20. I have the unhappy belief that I haven’t the time for the least bit of good work, for I really don’t have time for a story, time to expand myself in every direction in the world, as I should have to do. But then I once more believe that my trip will turn out better, that I shall comprehend better if I am relaxed by a little writing, and so I try it again. END ID]

[shisasan]

𝙰𝚞𝚐𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝟸𝟶, 𝟷𝟿𝟷𝟸 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙳𝚒𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝙾𝚏 𝙵𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚣 𝙺𝚊𝚏𝚔𝚊, 𝟷𝟿𝟷𝟶 -𝟷𝟿𝟷𝟹

[ID: empty face that wore its emptiness openly. END ID]

[paper-fairy]

“I am eternally, devastatingly romantic, and I thought people would see it because ‘romantic’ doesn’t mean ‘sugary.’ It’s dark and tormented — the furor of passion, the despair of an idealism that you can’t attain.”

— Catherine Breillat  

[bookish-maniac]

I wish I can lay down on the sidewalk on a windy day and watch the clouds pass by but that's socially unacceptable 🙂🤌

[feral-ballad]

My parents were downstream, not far away, then farther away because I was walking the wrong way, upstream instead of downstream. Finally I was advertised on the hotline of help, and yet there I was, slopping along happily in the stream’s coolness. So maybe it was the right way after all. If this was lost, let us all be lost always.

Mary Oliver, from Upstream: Selected Essays