Dark Academia @lacunademia - Tumblr Blog

Maybe I am the tragedy of a single moment, Leaving a scar eternal, A cell that recreates love, Only to scatter it across the earth, the sky, and strangers. Or perhaps I am my father's angry daughter, Pretending kindness, Hiding the monster within- The one even monsters fear.

Who am I? I am the doomed prodigy, An unwanted monster, Dancing across wild grass under an unsheltered sky. I love the color red, Yet despise its omnipresence, For it reminds me that we all bleed the same.

Today, I reek of hatred again, Yet when sunlight touches me,

I feel like a child dreaming of wonder.

So, who am I?

A paradox, a

contradiction,

A soul both cursed and

yearning,

Forever asking the

universe,

"Who am I?

Who am I?

I am the doomed prodigy,

An unwanted monster,

Dancing across wild grass under an unsheltered sky.

I love the color red,

Yet despise its omnipresence,

For it reminds me that we all bleed the same.

I think the weirdest thing is having left over information about someone. like i still know someone's favorite girl name. or their favorite season. or someone's address. i remember someone's favorite ice cream flavors. and someone's favorite childhood book. and the mental disorder their uncle has. i remember the ages and birthdays of their siblings. i remember the song they said they'd sing to their spouse. where do i put this down? where do i learn to forget?

"We look at the world once, in childhood. The rest is memory."

—Louise Gluck

Growing up is not the problem. Forgetting is.

—The Little Prince

"You still crave lemonade, but the taste doesn't satisfy you as much as it used to. You still crave summer, but sometimes you mean summer, five years ago."

—Alida Nugent

"Nothing ever ends poetically. It ends and we turn it into poetry. All that blood was never once beautiful. It was just red."

— Kait Rokowski

"But in that moment I understood what they say about nostalgia, that no matter if you're thinking of something good or bad, it always leaves you a little emptier afterward."

—John Corey Whaley, Noggin

"Most of our childhood is stored not in photos, but in certain biscuits, lights of day, smells, textures of carpet."

- Alain de Botton

But then it passed,