love in the stars

romantic academia

[dreamscapesandnightmares]

You're on your own, kid

When I was 5, my father punished me for crying in Church. He said I was disrespectful towards God.

But who was God, anyway?

When I was 11, I believed God would be the one because of whom I was loved. And yes, I was.

My parents loved me for being quiet in church, for covering my head, reading the scriptures and praying everyday.

Once before I stepped out of bed and once before I stepped in.

When I was 13, I realised that God loved me sure, but it was human love that I craved. A parent's kind words of approval. Instead I heard,

"oh but she prays harder than you do. Maybe you should do it too."

So, at 14, I was praying as hard as I could have, my knees buring holes in the ground. So now when I stand up, you can still hear them crack.

At 15, even before I could open my eyes and pray before stepping out of bed, my world had collapsed on its own. One would say it happened because my closed eyes in front of God had made me blind. Why wasn't I protected when all I did was pray. To which I say,

"but God looks after me."

And then someone screams

"only as long as you are looking after yourself."

[dreamscapesandnightmares]

Is it easier to create art when one is depressed?

[dreamscapesandnightmares]

My brand of love is different from the ones of old. It is easy to come and even easier to disappear. But in those seconds where it exists, I am shattered and rebuilt a million times.

[emjcarr]

how do I stop believing in the stuff my mom says about me :/

[ren-allen]

When your mom tries to manipulate you into helping her cook for her husband because she’s “tired” and you “only worked 8 hours on the computer” and to her that’s “nothing”. And then starts yelling at you cuz you tell her no because you’re exhausted from sitting in front of a computer while you were compiling documents and doing phone calls to gather information. But that’s nothing to her so you tell her “No that’s your husband and I don’t even like him” and she yells at you to go to your room and let her cook and then turns it into a “my children don’t love me” campaign because you decided to remind her that you’re human. And you hear her from your room complaining over everything to try and guilt trip you more into helping, but today you just don’t care because it’s too hot in your house and your head hurts. So now you’re just venting onto tumblr because you don’t want to bother your friends with your life inconveniences.

[thoughtkick]

“In case you ever foolishly forget: I am never not thinking of you.”

— Virginia Woolf

[dreamscapesandnightmares]

It felt like a Roald Dahl story. His eyes sparkled like fireflies when I held his hand in mine. He smiled up at the orange sky when all at once it turned slate grey. The sky opened without warning and we stood there under the rain. The last of the sun faded across the horizon and the trees fell against the wind. In the middle of the wild thunderstorm, he told me that he would like a kiss.

[dreamscapesandnightmares]

One day, after ages of slumbering, I crawled out of my den. The sun burned my eyes and the air stung me, pushing me back inside. My heart was a scorched fruit, so dry it needed water from the stars. My skin was falling off as I walked out, braving everything that stood against me. I did that because you stood outside my door. You extended your hand, hoping for me to take it. You said my name over and over again and my heart bitter began to bloom, to hope. So, I walked out as if on a sea of broken glass because I knew that if I touched you I would be healed.

[dreamscapesandnightmares]

You are my faraway love. In a dream, miles away from where I am now, you smiled at me. A crooked thing, it leapt over my heart and buried its claws. Your eyes sparkled behind your glasses as you stole my heart. Now, I say it is yours. That I gave it you. That I had no idea when it happened. Even as I am transported to that moment every time I close my eyes.

[dreamscapesandnightmares]

We don't fall in love just once. No, we have the capacity to fall in love a million times. Sometimes with the same person over and over again or with different people at different times, and even multiple people at the same time. Our hearts expand to let these people come in even if it is broken, even if we know after the third time that it ends in nothing but heartache. We do it because we know that it is worse without them. That our heart wouldn't know how to beat without them.

[dreamscapesandnightmares]

Imagine being kissed and knowing that they will stay even when you are at your worst. Imagine that. What does it feel like?

[dreamscapesandnightmares]

Pov: Winters that freeze your bones/a red silk scarf, barely warm/ combat boots/ clean bed with pale grey sheets/ a set of French doors opening into a snow covered garden/thick, blue drapes with golden finches/ a stack of loose paper, scribbled on with black ink/ crystal ash tray with mint cigarettes/ eucalyptus and pomegranate scented candles/ snowflake earrings/ dried chrysanthemums/ hand-painted moon phase tapestry/ a heart that might heal if you let it.

[throughwinterfields]

One thing I've noticed about the lgbtqa+ community is that when any type of media makes reference that indicates characters are not straight or cis, the media starts to get a lot of attention because we have so little representation. Entire communities develop around characters who might be queer, even if in the end, it was all queerbating to get a bigger audience by exploring the desire to be seen and validated, which makes shows who do this incredibly disgusting. It is easy to say the lgbtqa+ community gets "obsessed" with media that hints representation, without thinking twice about how they are privileged to have media revolve around their white, cis, and heteronormative lives.

People are not always obsessed with media. Usually what it means is that they finally found something that they can identify with, even when the show doesn't go canon with the premise. That is why it is "easy" to queebate and why people feel so betrayed after spending their time and energy only to feel exploited for audience points.

There are so many groups that are marginalized, waiting for a chance for the whole world to realize something so simple, a basic need we all have: to recognize the existence of diversity in society. To recognize that we exist.

[melodyanne]

[dreamscapesandnightmares]

I found that adjusting to new cities was easy until I moved to Delhi. I lived near a dairy, a cow shed right behind my room. It smelled of cow shit all the time and when it rained, you had to spend a minute to see if the roads were covered with mud or poop. As time passed my aspirations were built around that place and the ideal life I imagined I would have there. A small house perhaps, that always smelled great and hosted close friends for tea parties. And of course, him. Then it happened. I stepped out of his house with a dwindling thread of endings holding us together through that last goodbye. I had no attachment left for the city. The adrenaline was gone, my heart didn't race looking at the white facade of connaught place or the city lights in front of the Red Fort, and then I realized that I loved and hated, lived and breathed because of him. I loved him and I loved Delhi because of him. No moon ritual could change that.

Travelling was an important part of being with him. The yellow line of the metro and the switch to the blue line, my heart beat with the rhythm of the crowd at the station on Saturday evenings. I used to wait for the train to arrive, with my eyes set upon the blob of light in the distance, or the change in the wind in that underground station, wondering about what we could be.

[dreamscapesandnightmares]

Romance or romantic love is a parasitic being. It strives on fodder from the soul, mostly causing pain and getting stronger with each loss. But it is also a sweet spot, a struggle between wanting the warmth of familiarity and the fear of terminal ache from the loss of it. Does the fear make us work harder? Does the comfort make us work harder? People, often more stable ones, believe that love shouldn't be measured. Less damaging as it may be, romantics always use measures and scales to brew the perfect amount of love, always reducing or increasing the intensity, time, thought and passion. Somehow, the perfect amount does not exist and that imperfection is the only variable that stands between godly incandescence and human tears.

[dreamscapesandnightmares]

When you close your eyes, what do you see? Is it a world gone blank or the colors the universe had kept only for itself? Like walking into a secret vault where stardust from a nebula is crashing against a glass jar. It's like your soul, so fluid that it dances to life. It goes so low on some days and so high on others, making you hold on tight to whatever is the closest. And the closest isn't always the best, it struggles out of your grasp and then you are just falling.