Syn

Wicca. Metal. N’wah. Gamer.

[toriaelise]

“send nudes” come over & take them yourself coward

[paper-wounds]

[thoughtkick]

“To have someone understand your mind is a different kind of intimacy.”

— Unknown

[onlyhurtforaminute]

HIRAETH-FOREVER AGAINST OURSELVES

[moonbeamb4be]

polaroids of me and you making love when?

[icaseybaybee]

[motojane]

[paper-wounds]

[keytomind]

🖤👆🏼 I wish I didn’t…

[i-will-recover-tomorrow]

[ancientdelirium-deactivated2019]

[goth-queen]

[threeamserif]

some favourites from a filtering batch I ran earlier

photos are my own, don't repost/reupload please

[whiskeyrevel]

[quotefeeling]

“That’s how you live: you cry, you ache, you hurt, you can’t breathe. That’s how you move forward, by feeling it all.”

— Kayil York

[kennedyandherbugs]

here is a poem-ish i wrote about the onset of seasonal depression. photo by me!

[ohfxye]

the cold air finds me,

cuts clean, bright, alive.

each breath a small rebirth,

a shard of sky in my lungs.

I miss it.

that sting that proves I’m here,

that hush that follows,

when the world holds its breath with me.

[tendingtothepulse]

Just Right

You should know loving me means goodbyes are never casual. They are rituals. Every kiss is a negotiation with gravity. Every phone call is a séance where I have to hang up in a way that convinces the universe you’ll survive the night. Sometimes you laugh at how many times I say goodnight. I don’t tell you each repetition is me hiding another sharp object from fate’s pocket. You should know I will kiss you like a proofreader. I will rewrite it until the sentence feels safe. And if I pull you back for the third, or fourth, or fifth draft, it isn’t because I doubt your love, it’s because I doubt the laws of physics, I doubt the generosity of God, I doubt the thin thread that ties your heartbeat to this moment. You should know I envy how you walk out the door like the air doesn’t need to be measured. Meanwhile, I’m still there, counting the hinges, asking the room to promise me it won’t swallow you,  begging the door to not become the last one I see you go through  Sometimes, I want to tell you that my OCD is less about germs and more about grief I haven’t met yet. It’s a guard dog that only barks at shadows. It’s me bargaining with the universe, trying to write you into tomorrow. And sometimes, I fear your patience thinning, like the wick of a candle burning toward silence. I want to hand you my chest, let you feel the way my heart races every time the goodbye feels crooked, the way my ribs tighten when the last kiss sounds unfinished. You should know I don’t need you to fix it. I just need you to believe me when I say the rituals aren’t who I am, they are the way I keep holding you. And if I ever tell you, I promise you I’m not crazy, I know it’s stupid  what I really mean is please don’t leave before the last goodbye lands just right.