DEAR READER
Not today Justin
⁂
JVL
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trying on a metaphor
Sade Olutola
will byers stan first human second
Xuebing Du
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wallacepolsom
occasionally subtle
Janaina Medeiros
Misplaced Lens Cap
if i look back, i am lost
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
noise dept.
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sheepfilms
seen from Bulgaria
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@narabelle
But with every generation comes a time where the roles reverse and the children become the parents and live in a constant state of worry. Whilst on the other hand, the parents force themselves to stay ignorant.
There’s no war, so it must be better. It has to be. Because without this sense of delusion, it means they’ve struggled and hoped for nothing.
The 8th Hour
It was rounding to the 8th hour. The sun had settled and the stars were making their nocturnal appearance above our bungalow.
My mother hadn’t come home yet from work. For the past couple of months a resurgence of Monster Hysteria had come back in full force across the world, even more so with anthropocentric politicians taking office.
Monsters were never truly accepted. However, we have been generally tolerated across most parts of the world ever since the referendum. We were even given ‘safe havens’ that many ran to in hopes to revive our lives. The lives we had a right to.
But with every generation comes a time where the children become the parents and live in a constant state of pessimism whilst the parents try to stay ignorant and force themselves to think that they’re living better. To them, there’s no war so it must be better. It has to be because if not, it means they’ve struggled and hoped for nothing.
But the Humans have always been a contentious species. A group who have salivated at any chance to be the only.
Unfortunately my mother, braver than I in every way, refused to rid herself of her horns and still smiles with her fangs no matter how dangerous it is. Because to not be herself, is to relinquish her life and her entire being.
My heart had been in my throat till I heard the key turn in then lock. I ran to the door and she looked at me with delight and smiled as I encapsulate her with my arms. She thought I was being my affectionate self, the part of me that missed her warm hugs, warm food and warm presence. But she couldn’t see the vice that finally let go of my lungs. The lump that reduced in size as the smell of her vanilla lathered skin engulfed my senses.
To her, being out was something to do. To me it was a knife to the gut that twisted haphazardly.
If I can live my life without finding the love of my life but still enjoy the company of friendships without any pestering questions about my worth, then my life has been truly fulfilled.
The gut wrenching feeling of unabashed yearning is a universal disease that no scientist or physician has been able to masterfully cure. The late nights, the dire need for advice, the anxiety over whether the object of affection would return said feelings. And if the feelings were to be returned, the fear of it never amounting to yours is ever present.
Love.
A beautiful word, a wonderful feeling, an all-consuming sensation, an absolute tragedy.
To live for the love of the world carries a weight one has no business carrying when the world can be so cruel. Yet, I do. I live animals, for friends, for the helpless strangers that are my earthly kin. But most of all, I live for love. And if I can one day, for a mere minute, experience a love so transformational, bounding and moving—I have lived fully.
Her sadness filled every corner of the bathroom as she watched her reflection in the mirror. Sunken, red eyes that once shone brighter than any constellation. Her nose, which was once her best feature now was nothing short of a pudgy, cherry tomato. But though she did not know...the mirror fogged with every tear, the wind drew closer to her nostrils with every breath, the incessant dripping of the tap ceased to give her space to think. But she never noticed as she never stopped to look away from that pitiful face.
The desire to live in the wilderness surrounded by hummingbirds and the occasional visit from deers consumes my entire existence.
Value me for my kindness, measure my heart, recognise my goodwill. Write it on my tombstone and burn my millions.
She is told God loves her but she can only wonder why He doesn’t love others the same.
I’m a lonely being regardless of where I am and who is around. My soul is only comfortable during the bleak, quiet moments in life.
“I don’t want a man to tell me he is attracted to me. I want him to feel a gut-churning, soul-crushing desire to have me. I want him to cry, laugh and dance at the thought of me. Pfft, attraction. That could never be enough.”
Love can be the most liberating, painful, exhilarating, crushing feeling a person can feel.
I believe there’s a deep homelessness in man. In spirit, morality and empathy. Profound apathy has wormed its way into our souls and has taken us all hostage. There is a god one cannot see yet honours whilst simultaneously dishonouring ourselves. Those we can see.
People do not live. They never did. They just go with the works and flow till the end of time. They never stop to feel the skin over their bones without it being from the affections of a lover. They never watch a bruise turn from purple to green to yellow. They never notice the change in seasons from winter to spring, and how the greenery blooms, stands taller just to dancing side to side. They do not live. They work, eat, sleep, and die.
Who are we if we cannot take pride in our ability to live?
She talks death with her friends, but life with him because she knows when she dies, it will be with him.
