Esotericectasy

18 ⋆˚࿔ Insta: SorrowfulBallerina

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Im a sentimental girl

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I just ate fondue and ratatouille like from the dreamers but not burnt..

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Drinking wine while watching the dreamers is an elite experience

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Cool girl is hot. Cool girl is game. Cool girl is fun. Cool girl never gets angry at her man. She only smiles in a chagrined, loving manner. And then presents her mouth for fucking. She likes what he likes, so evidently he’s a vinyl hipster who loves fetish Manga. If he likes girls gone wild, she’s a mall babe who talks for football and endures buffalo wings at Hooters.

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Im smiling like an idiot reminiscing about pretty lingerie, dozens of tiny dresses, books, and roses, roses, roses.

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Degenerate they may, degenerate I’ll be.

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My impending psychological analysis of quintessential toxic men:

The internal problem: They are likely deeply lonely but unable to admit it. The very defenses they use to protect themselves are what keep them isolated. They may crave connection but can only pursue it in ways that destroy it.

Their self worth is entirely dependent on external validation and control. They don’t have a stable, internal sense of value.

They likely feel, at a core level, that they are not enough not interesting enough, not valuable enough, not worthy of genuine love. So they present themselves as demanding it instead of earning it.

They are not actually in control of themselves. Their behavior is compulsive, reactive, and rigid. Real control would be the ability to be vulnerable. Real control doesn’t have to prove itself.

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Increasingly i see the human form. We are led by a caress from infancy. We are led by the solace of a mere glance, wishing only to be perceived to know, perhaps, if we exist outside of our reflection. We are led by our words, our silence. Love; a word too complex for oral transmission. So we say it with a glance. Not a word. But a hand reaching out. A glance, not a word, because I love you.

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I have a strange feeling of absolute harmony. It’s a perfect moment, really. A soft light, a scent in the air, the quiet murmur of the city. I breathe deeply. life is simple and clear. A surge of love, an ode to existence.

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I give a fuck, I give lots of fucks. Im a prostitute of feelings.

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I have yet to find another to direct my souls deepest yearnings and crushing devotion!!

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We are made of dreams, and dreams are made of us. It’s a fine day my love, it’s a fine day, in words, in dreams, and in death.

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My year of rest and relaxation