write poetry. for yourself, not for others. write about how your eyes look in the sun, write about how the birthmark on your left thigh. compare your laugh to sunshowers and your anger to thunderstorms. take a bath. a long one. light candles and use the bath bomb you’ve been saving for a rainy day. watch the colours it paints in the water, think about how they look like the sunset from that one afternoon. run your fingers along your body. memorise every curve and dimple. get to know the vessel that carries you. pick up the instrument that’s been collecting dust in the corner of your room. play a couple notes. relearn the very first song you were taught. breathe your worries into the noise, let the sound drown out the rushing in your skull. buy some shitty watercolours. paint something. it doesn’t have to be good, it just has to be there. paint your first memory. paint what you think will be your last. burn it. repaint it as something sweeter. repaint it as how you’d die if your life was full of honey. wake up early and get on a train. get on another one. don’t look at the destinations. get off when it feels right. explore. sit in the café. order a drink you haven’t tried before. sell your old clothes. sell the ones that don’t feel like you anymore, shed them like snakeskin. find them a new home. use the money to buy a nice journal and a candy bar. write in the journal when you feel the aching come back, when you feel it creeping into your bones like old dust. eat the candy bar. you deserve it. go through your contacts. delete the numbers of anyone you haven’t spoken to in a year. if you’d like to speak to them, text them. if the conversation brings you pain, leave it. ask the person you love the most for song recommendations. make a new playlist. write the next chapter of your life to that tune.
- and when you have done all these things, you will be ready
snowghoul
andulkaphoto
romaincrisis
sugurugetos
theartofmadeline
prguitarman
gummygunk
pixelskylines
