“we live in a world, a society that romanticizes tragedy and pain as if they’re beautiful, as if the galaxy of bloodstains and curses carved into the hollow of the rib right above my heart outshines all of the interplanetary dust that has ever existed since time’s first breath. but they’re wrong, and sometimes i envy them because they don’t know anything, anything about heartbreak and tangled sheets and not even a goodbye. they don’t know the horror of an endless addiction to what could’ve been, to fevered hallucinations of him whispering ‘i love you’ into the constellation of freckles beneath my ear. they think that calamity is a beautiful creature to behold, a beautiful story that needs to be told in a shakespearean sonnet or play, but if only they knew that’s far from the terrible truth, that tragedy and pain are sirens of the old drowning us because we’ve become sailors without a ship, in a sea oblivious to the tortured reality of what makes us painfully human.”
— — Calamity is not a beautiful creature || n.s.t. (via dearyesterdays)
