it feels like i have forgotten myself.

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it feels like i have forgotten myself.
Virginia Woolf, from her novel titled "The Waves," originally published in 1931
23 January
My arms are yearning for his presence. He's nowhere near me, and it is tormenting me.
we are together!!
i do not wish to understand anything about me, and yet, i do. i do understand myself, i know it very well when somebody has an incorrect depiction of me because it feels like a violation not to disagree with it. i vomit myself again and again.
John Williams, Stoner
being a teenage girl between 2010 and 2015 must have been the shit. lana del rey dropped born to tie and ultraviolence. the arctic monkeys dropped am. justin bieber. one direction. u had tumblr and weheartit. u post a black and white pic of a cigarette and u get like 20k notes. pretty little liars, vampire diaries and glee were all on tv. twilight was still really popular. all around it must have been fun
might fuck around and let nature reclaim me
real intimacy isnβt built in bedrooms but in conversations where your raw thoughts, fears, and truths are met with love, patience, and a desire to understand
being the last one to send a message before the chat falls into sudden silence always feels like u just made the worst faux pas of your life and you go sorry guys was that weird and they're all like no sorry I was just looking at a leaf on tbe ground leaf.jpg like oh ok
making silly sounds doesnβt always have to serve a purpose and is sometimes done purely for whimsyβs sake
Need a long makeout session where we can't keep our hands off each other
nobody would be able to understand the love that overflowed between me and mama. she used to sing for me whenever i asked her to. this one time, i wanted to learn this one naat and i would ask my mama to recite it to me on repeat until i finally learned it. i would sit on the floor, carefully wash each one of her toes while talking to her, then kiss her knees when i was done with it. we used to have dates on every Saturday, and we'd take turns to rant to each other about everything that has happened to us. even after the most terrible life, i asked her if she regrets anything, she told me that she doesn't; that she never would. we shared love in the pistachios we'd peel for each other, in the way we'd share coconut water with each other, in the way we'd share lassi with each other. my body immediately danced whenever it felt the singing voice of my mama. we used to exchange the meanest look whenever somebody said something we didn't like. our love lied in those last moments when she fell terribly sick, and i jokingly asked her to scratch my back because she was always asking me to scratch hers, β "you're always making me scratch your back, scratch mine now" β then sat in front of her. and she did. even with her trembling, weak hands, she scratched my back. i asked her to stop within five seconds, told her that i am not itchy anymore, and she said, "what? sit back down, don't lie to me, let me scratch your back," and i looked at her with my heart so heavy with love, i almost cried.
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β Jenny Slate, Little Weirds
to be seen without performing. to be heard without screaming. to be missed without disappearing. to be enough without proving it. to be held without falling apart. to be understood without explaining. to be wanted without conditions. to be. to be.
Joy Sullivan, from βOn Days I Hate My Body, I Remember Redwoodsβ,Β Instructions for Traveling West