that cabin in alaska

a cozy space of my memories, thoughts and rants - all inside this warm place away from civilization

[mostly-reading-crying]

I find Tumblr to be better than instagram and twitter to vent out.

[mostly-reading-crying]

nostalgia fascinates me.

[mostly-reading-crying]

"The more I saw of her, the more I liked. She was, if anything, on the plain side, at least not the type to attract men wherever she went. But there was something in her face that was meant for me alone. Every time we met, I took a good long look at her. And I loved what I saw."

- murakami

[dark-romantics]

To love someone is firstly to confess: I'm prepared to be devastated by you.

~ Billy-Ray Belcourt, A History of My Brief Body

[mostly-reading-crying]

To love is to enter into the inevitability of one day not being able to protect what is most valuable to you.

- Mohsin Hamid, Exit West

[mostly-reading-crying]

monday winter afternoon

nostalgia hits me - there are many things i can't change now, a lot of things which scare me, a lot of things I'm thankful to, many things which I will always remember and feel good about.

snuggled inside a blanket right now, and writing this I really don't know where my life is going - am I really happy or it's just a momentarily gust of joy? Will I always be held back by my past or there'll come a time past will just be a meaningless word to me?

[nfcomics]

Fantasy • Grim Dark art by Brom

[mostly-reading-crying]

from the movie "dukhtar", one of my favourite movies!

[mostly-reading-crying]

I read somewhere today that if a person has hurt you then for every tear you drop that person's sins increase.

I've cried so much now my tears have dried. I wonder how sinful she has become.

[weltenwellen]

Natalie Díaz, from "From the Desire Field", Postcolonial Love Poem

[latibule-e-deactivated20231012]

— Clarice Lispector, from Why This World: A Biography of Clarice Lispector

[mostly-reading-crying]

Every moment is a potential dive into vulnerability, my wounds are all open and everybody has a salt sprinkler in their hands.

[wedarkacademia]

[weltenwellen]

Natalie Díaz, from "American Arithmetic", Postcolonial Love Poem

[mostly-reading-crying]

".....- but there's never much time. You're always in a rush, or else you're too exhausted to have a proper conversation. "

Kazuo Ishiguro expressing my everyday mood.

[mostly-reading-crying]

He could only consider me as the living corpse of a would-be suicide, a person dead to shame, an idiot ghost.

Osamu Dazai, No Longer Human

[metamorphesque]

― Rosary, Anna Akhmatova

[text ID: Will you forgive me these November days?]

[weltenwellen]

Natalie Díaz, from "American Arithmetic", Postcolonial Love Poem

[typewriter-worries]

[ Text ID: I am doing my best to not become a museum / of myself. I am doing my best to breathe in and out. ]

[mostly-reading-crying]

one of those days when I want to stop overthinking about things I can't change and sit by the river and listen to a soft melody while waiting for the snow to fall on me, my hopes and turn me white.