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@kazoosloth
to me, you're the moon not because you're the calm one or the sensible one but because you shine so bright in the black sky you light up my view in this dark world maybe i'm the ocean with how i keep gravitating to you maybe i'm a lost bird because you're my navigation
youre sweet. sickenly so.
16/07/25
stop it. don't look at me like that. don't look at me like you miss me, like i make you happy. like you love me.
because you don't love me the way i love you. i don't make you laugh or smile the way you do to me. you don't hate the kilometers between us the way i do. because you don't miss me the way i miss you. you don't learn to banish these vocabularies so letting go was easier. the way i did so i could let go of the chain with the cannonball holding myself from being the version of me society deems normal. the version of my parent accepts, the version of me that can get me to places. despite my favorite version of me was the one making jokes with you. the world felt like it was just the two of us when we huddled up against each other, whispering and giggling. ignoring everything around us. except the world isn't just us. it's big, it's vast. it doesn't care about the words that lingers between us. and you know that, but i don't. i didn't. i was blindly following a map without looking at the road. you are the map i held on so tightly to and i finally learnt to place you down. but you're back, flying in the wind towards me, saying you miss me. and i miss you, i miss you everyday and during every moment, but i can't say those words. my mouth feels like acid, my throat becomes a desert and my limbs don't feel mine. i miss you so much i can't breathe, so how could you say those three words so easily? i was the ocean waves, pulling myself away then straying back to you. you were the beach, the shore. you only needed to call out my name and i found myself running, my feet burning. i had always called you stupid, gullible. but maybe i was the gullible one. the fool. the card that was dealt to me since the very beginning. glued to my deck of life. no matter where i go, the scenery i walk through. i'll always see you in every view. as if a parasite clings itself to the brain cortex hindering my vision. you were my north star, the brightest star, my compass to home. the compass out of reach from me. no matter how far i chase you, my arms could never reach. so that's when i'll make wings, like icarus. except, unlike icarus my wings won't melt. unlike icarus, i'm not chasing the blazing sun. i'm chasing my north star in the night sky. my wings won't melt from the beauty of what i'm chasing but i'll be flown away from the night wind. because i could never get hurt by you. but the universe will always keep me away from you.
so please. continue to look at me like that. like you need me. even if it's not as how i need you.
it’s always “don’t bottle it up” until the bottle breaks and everyone’s too scared to get hurt from picking up the shards.
the universe is cruel to us who only wants to daydream.
i hate you guys. we’re always throwing fists at each other, pushing and shoving each other. we get bruises being with each other but sometimes i wished those purple marks never fade.
i miss you guys
when i’m on a school trip and i see everyone with their own circle of friends, even though i’m surrounded by people who think of me as a friend and i think of them as one too. i can’t help but want to share the moment with you guys who are cities away.
when i’m preparing for a school event and people count on me just like the years before. but the people supporting me aren’t you guys.
when i’m relaxing silently with people around me but the breaths aren’t you guys.
when i’m talking about things we like but the people aren’t you guys.
when i’m sneaking around getting in trouble with my classmates and skipping school things but it’s not you guys i run with.
when i’m laughing with people but the voices i hear aren’t you guys.
when i’m going to a convenience store with people but the ones who’re nagging me about my drink choices aren’t you guys.
when i sit in the aisle seat because i always want my friends to have the better seat but the one next to me aren’t you guys.
when i see you guys take pictures with your friends but they aren’t me.
contrary to feeling ethereal when touched by a loved one, i love it when it brings someone down instead. a god being pulled down to earth, being handled as how a human would, like they could be hurt and breathing instead of immortal.
i wish i could word this better bcos it's in my mind every time 'a little death' by the neighbourhood plays.
the lyrics "touch me there, make me feel like i am breathing, feel like i am human." talks to me so much, the capture of pain being a significant part of the process of love is arghhhh.
a narcissist who thinks theyre the best at everything gets humbled in the eyes of their lover. the man on top of the world wasnt on the highest peak, they were on a hill
contrary to feeling ethereal when touched by a loved one, i love it when it brings someone down instead. a god being pulled down to earth, being handled as how a human would, like they could be hurt and breathing instead of immortal.
and even the angels fight amongst one another to be your guardian just so they could be by your side.
i know people aren't homes, that they're rivers; ever-changing and dynamic. if so then let me be the fish that swims in them. going wherever the current takes me; where im enveloped by your embrace, where the only way i could ever be away from you is because im ripped away from you, how when im without you even breathing is painful.
the beauty you hold makes me wish for the most impossible things. how i wish medusa was real so she could bless me with the honor of turning me into stone so i could gaze into your eyes for eternity.
sometimes i wished everyday was your birthday. just so i could have an excuse to gift you things
being drawn by an artist means they've observed you enough to burn a memory, but that memory can't stay there forever. the artist is bound to forget, things blur. they can't even rely on their own paintings because the brain will always focus on the details that stand out to a person. what if the artist made the muse's eyes brown instead of noir because to them, their eyes gleamed like the sun. you can never help it.
but photography. you take the real thing and it's neverchanging, as long as theres a digital copies, be it months or years, it will always stay true. but the photographer loses their memories over time, they know the muse but what did they like most about them? the photos are just still images of real life with no filters, what was so special about them?
S/O who loves dressing up and S/O who has the worst fashion taste //head in hands
What if
Architecture and builder rivalries, the architecture does their best to make buildings the builder will never be able to do and the builder has to try to make it
Look at this cool goat