Ophelia

[sunsetquotes]

Letting go. Everyone talks about it like it’s the easiest thing. Unfurl your fingers one by one until your hand is open. But my hand has been clenched into a fist for… years now; it’s frozen shut.

Gayle Forman; Where She Went

[opheliaaaaaaaaaa]

[journalofsolitude]

Concerning the Book That Is the Body of the Beloved

Gregory Orr

[weltenwellen]

Dorianne Laux, “Each Sound”, What We Carry

[ashstfu]

i don’t think people understand how much of life is grief. not just people dying, but losing the version of yourself you thought you’d become. grieving the city you had to leave. the friends you lost not in argument, but in silence. the summer that will never come back. the feeling that maybe you peaked at 12 when you were reading books under the covers and believing in forever

[kameneva]

i refuse to let go

@kameneva

[denssonfilm]

[rosieandthemoon]

[metamorphesque]

from "May", Tathev Simonyan

[beguines]

[havingapoemwithyou]

Heaven by Hua Xi

[opheliaaaaaaaaaa]

straight from monet's garden🪷

[scorpiotaurus30]

Bleed Into Me

Love is fucking feral.

Don’t dress it up. Don’t call it holy.

It’s not a soft place to land,

not a quiet church for your wounds.

It’s teeth, bared and gnashing—

a hunger so deep it swallows you

before you even notice

you’re gone.

Don’t look at me with your soft eyes.

And don’t tell me about forever.

Forever is a lie we tell each other

when we’re afraid of being

burnt bare.

Because love is not eternal.

It’s destruction. It’s rebirth. It's death.

All wrapped up together,

a sickness you thank for keeping you alive

even as it eats you alive.

Some days, I don’t even like you.

I know that’s ugly. I know.

But it’s true. There are mornings

when your voice scrapes

on the fragile walls of my patience,

when I look at you and feel nothing

but weight.

And it terrifies me.

Not the emptiness,

but the fact that I will still choose you

even in that emptiness.

You want to know what love is?

It’s breaking yourself open

a thousand times and still coming back.

It’s saying, *Yes. Hurt me again.*

Take what you need and leave me hollow

because I don’t know

how not to give you everything.

It’s drowning in your chaos

and calling it home.

We build love out of violence.

Every kiss is a battle cry,

every silence a goddamn graveyard.

We bury the softer versions of ourselves.

We dig, we dig, and we fucking claw.

Not because we’re whole—

no, never that—

but because our brokenness

fits together like jagged glass.

You cut me,

I bleed into you.

And somehow,

we stay alive.

Maybe I don’t love you cleanly.

Maybe my love isn’t gentle or kind or easy.

But I will stand here,

open veins and all,

every ruined part of me

staring at every ruined part of you,

and I will say:

*Yes. Again. Again. Again.*

[soulrotted]

~ Ink-Eater ~

I loved you like a worm loves ink—

slithering through every vowel you never meant,

my body contorting in the spaces between

“I’ll call you” and “I meant to.”

Your love sat on my chest like a taxidermy swan,

beautiful, but deteriorating

from the inside feathers out.

I wrote you poems but your replies were always in Morse code

tapped out by a drunk pigeon on a power line.

You held my hand like a cacodemon holds a grudge.

I felt like a home being devoured by moths.

I keep your name in my mouth like a bitter seed,

and when I spit it out,

the ground around me dies.

This is love:

a worm in a typewriter

writing its own eulogy

[inkpressedpetals]

[ahotknife]

megan lynne

[remanence-of-love]