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2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
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@marconeedshugs
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I am reminded of being a child, and preferring to sleep on the side of the house next to the road, with the window open. I remember thinking, "all of these people late out at night, in their cars, have a life of their own, and for a brief moment, they have passed by my life, filling it with company as I fall asleep. And they have no idea". And feeling comforted by their presence. More than any real person at that time.
The night we were told you weren't going to make the week, it was raining. The branches was knocking on your window, and the flower had started to wilt. From what I presume of lack of water. The night you died I dreamt of you, reaching out to me. Telling me you loved me. But that you had to go now. When I awoke, I was told the news.
Not even human btw I'm a close approximation
I will always be a sentimental moron, I'm okay with that
the worst part of being an abused child is that you'll make up any justifiable reason for your abuse. It's easier that way. Your parents are supposed to love you, thats just nature. So when they don't, it only makes sense to make up some reason for why they don't. "i was a bad kid" "i just have to do the right thing and they'll love me". Then it becomes a fixable problem. Reality is, its not fixable and it's not nature. Sometimes your parent hate you because they can. and thats hard to wrap your mind around.
I am good. I am loved.
When you called me mature for my age When you called me an old soul When you called me brave
You noticed You just didn't bother
─ Margaret Atwood
Sappho, If Not Winter: Fragments of Sappho (tr. by Anne Carson)
avpd/szpd culture is experiencing "love" more like a reptile would--in the sense that you are familiar to me and I appreciate you, however I cant feel any deep emotional connection to you.