sonder .

t ;22 ; writeblr

[melancholydew]

[ 22 . 4 . 2019 , 2007 ]

sitting with my guitar cradled in my lap , the once - familiar feeling of its curves and edges i had aligned myself to feels heartbreakingly alien. as i strummed softly i felt the metallic scent of the strings hit me like a pang of nostalgia, i realised the dents in my fingers hurt more than they had in a long time, like they'd never known the touch and bite of a string before. the notes came out distorted and i cursed myself for giving up on something that could've made me happy, could've offered me a safe haven. i realised it's not the first thing i let go of. and now i'm just sitting with my barren heart spilling on the sheet music, hurting with the loss of all the things i let go of that could've been special.

[melancholydew]

i think i need to talk about crushing grief in your formative years. because you're a child one day and the loss takes with them the child you were. because when the mourning is done, when the tears stop flowing, and a scar is left in the soul that barely just heals with time and is cracked open and bleeds poison at the slightest nudge.

5 years down the line, after the most tranquil evening, you wake up breathless as the newfound freshness of the loss hits you like a bullet shot afresh.

8 years down the line and the evening sunset brings you the memory of the wise old hands that held your unknowing ones and walked you to school and you realize that you're losing your grip on the memory of the voice that taught you how to add numbers. and you crumble once more. your grief is new and fresh once more. you realize you'll never heal. you'll realize, you don't want to, because to heal is to forget and you want to keep their memory alive and breathing.

i smile on my way to the library remembering the song he used to sing. i feel him in my heart and i keep him close.

[melancholydew]

24082022, 2159;

one of those evenings where the chill in the air stings and my cold hands crave the touch of another to bring back the warmth they forgot. where lying on the bed alone feels like mockery, my arms calling out for a heart they can hold and cherish. where fingertips tingle and the chest twinges with longing and desire.

[melancholydew]

the golden sand mixes with our giggles and the worries our young shoulders were bending under just gets carried with the wind. 26 people with 26 separate pasts and one intersecting future glance at each other with stars in their eyes and adoration on their lips, each realising the other is the perfect puzzle piece to complete the perfect puzzle of a moment we are living .

[inkstained]

- (j)

[melancholydew]

college ;

The word 'home' hangs in the air, unsaid as we trudge back to hostel after class, unsure whether that word, so precious and warm and deeply missed, fits the place we sleep in each night.

2 months flash by with rain and sunshine and laughter and sometimes all i can see in my friends' smile is time passing too quickly, and i can't hold it, i can't touch it.

the sun is harsh to me sometimes. all i can think of is that back home at this time of the year, the sun would only be a gentle caress on your skin.

In laughter over meaningless words i occasionally hear the echoes of those that bloomed over games of hide and seek and wonder if that little girl knows i pulled myself out of the grave several times to let her see the moonlight tonight.

tik-tik-tik and the time we spend, fingers covered in ink and hearts collecting paper cuts, runs away from us . expectations draw closer, close enough for sunken eyes and exhausted souls to see.

sometimes. i want to beg time for kindness.

[watsername]

do u guys listen to music in languages that aren’t your first language . and if so what languages

[slayerbuffy]

GO, LUKE. RANT, LUKE.

[luthienne]

Sally Rooney, Beautiful World, Where Are You

[Text ID: Maybe certain kinds of pain, at certain formative stages in life, just impress themselves into a person's sense of self permanently.]

[flowerytale]

Simone de Beauvoir, from a letter to Jean-Paul Sartre (Paris, Sunday, 10 September 1939)

[melancholydew]

there's this novelty i feel in listening to music through earphones. like this is my solace, and mine only. i refuse to share it with the walls, i refuse to let the curtains catch a peek, i refuse to let the bedsheets bask in the melodies. mine, and mine alone...

[luthienne]

“My loyalty to the past—my most dangerous trait, the one that has cost me most.”

— Susan Sontag, from As Consciousness Is Harnessed to Flesh: Journals and Notebooks 1964-1980

[witty-writer]

desi parents after lecturing their children's for two hours be like-- "humne tho isse bolna hi chor diya hai"

TT_TT

[bazm-e-ishq]

If we knew what love [did to us], we’d never love anyone / We’d rather bury our heart and its desire deep into the earth.

— Mir Taqi Mir

[megairea]

Federico García Lorca, from Berceuse for a Sleeping Mirror; Collected Poems (ed. by Christopher Maurer)

[melancholydew]

[ 16012022 ; 1831 ]

frostbitten fingers and back resting against the wall, sitting in a place i shouldn't be sitting. the dark of the roof that my eyes have tracked numerous times. the moon is faint and the stars have bidden adieu to the city long, long ago. a scene i know too well. as the discography of cigarettes after sex hums in my eyes and pauses in completion, all i can think of is everything i'm going to leave behind... too many places have a piece of my heart, how will i replace them and make myself whole again?

[yearningheart]

I feel so frightened of being hurt – not of the suffering, which I know I can handle, but the indignity of suffering, the indignity of being open to it.

– Sally Rooney, Beautiful World, Where Are You