anything that has to do with hands. anything remotely intimate but not vulgarly intimate. but then again what is vulgarity. anyways, intimacy AND hands. there are people holding hands not because someone told them to hold hands, they want to do it because it makes them happy, because the act of holding hands is attached to the fact that you care for someone. you want to hold their hand, their sweat-drenched palm through all the summer heat and you want to be there. you want to feel that contact between both of you. you want to be affectionate but subtle. someone kissing your hand to show their love, they just drop a peck on the back of your hand because they say it with their lips, “i love you but i can't say it so here i kiss your hand and i hope you know that i love you.” someone kissing your fingers to present their love. your digits, flimsier than the rest of you. someone holding your palm and then kissing your fingers because they want to say, “i love you and the hands, these fingers which do so much, yet don't think that they do so. i love them and i love you.” maybe as you grow older or just grow together with someone, maybe you don't say “i love you” a lot. maybe you just massage their shoulders. maybe you just remove the hair from their eyes. you don't say much but maybe you love them. you love them so much and you don't say it but you allow them to hold you. they allow you to enter into your space. a small imaginary gaussian surface that you have. you allow them and they allow you and you call it love. and you say, “i love you and we are here and i love you.”
the best thing about the moon and the sky and the stars is that while you can't ever take a picture of them that does them justice......you don't need to. they're gonna be there tomorrow
Poets write in beautiful flowery language, and we romanticise things, because that is the only way to reach into someone's heart, to make them feel things. Because the common person, while always yearning for love, wouldn't recognise it if it hit them smack in the face, like it does in the mundane everyday.
omg this is such a cool tag! tysm for taggin me <3 my top songs are
fly away by tones and i
toxic by ashnikko
tell me you love me by demi lovato
fires by carlie hanson ft lil west
heal me by grace carter
tagging @the-lavender-creator @jamiesimps @cutekawaiihentaiboobies @mystiqueshithead @toasty-brain-juice and anyone else who wants to do this bc idk much ppl here yet
Look, I know a good number of you are from the US and things aren't amazing there either, but my country is literally on the brink of collapse. So I'd love it if we could talk about that for a minute.
If you can't do anything else, please just read and reblog.
A second COVID wave has taken out the healthcare system. There are no more hospital beds. There's an oxygen shortage. There's a critical vaccine shortage. The Central Government has thrown its hands up and is passing the baton to the State Governments to do what they can.
There are over 16 million covid cases. A record 330,000 new cases reported yesterday - comparable to the US at its peak. 187,000 dead as of today.
There is no plan.
Mass cremations are taking place. The cremation grounds are running day and night and they are short on wood. People are watching their loved ones die while waiting for a hospital bed, and then they're unable to give them the proper burial rights.
Hospitals are overwhelmed. Patients are being confined, two to a bed. They're the lucky ones.
We are on the verge of people dying in the streets.
This is the second-most populous country in the world. The largest democracy. A country that encapsulates over 15,000 years of recorded human history and has endured everything from famine to invasion to colonisation.
We might be at the end. This might be the thing that does us in.
People are dying.
People are dying.
People are dying and there is no plan.
More good news? Variants are popping up. A double mutation strain has shown up. It is resistant to current vaccines. This will not go away. This is the devastation they warned of when the anti-maskers were out protesting the minor inconvenience of covering their face in public.
My country is on the verge of an emergency state. Our government has failed us. This is as dire a situation as it ever could be.
Look. I don't do much with my life. I write fics, some of you have read them and that's pretty much it. I spend my days with my head in the clouds because that's where I like to be.
But two days ago, my grandmother tested positive, had to be taken to hospital and the ambulance caught fire.
She barely made it to the urgent care she needs.
So, here I am, using whatever meager platform I have to cobble this request together. Because I have to do something.
“There’s moonlight in her eyes and stars that rest upon her lips. Constellations fall for her after the sunlight dips. Enveloped in inky waves she sings a lullaby, that drifts across the misty air and wakes the morning sky.”
How do you expect my parents to accept me being queer when the idea of romance is something that is not discussed in an average middle-class indian household.
I see americans talking about coming out or having the freedom to write about their queer history in college essays or about gay marriage being legal or simply attending pride parades ... and it hurts. It fucking hurts because I know I can't do any of that. Because my country thinks queer marriage does not uphold the "values" and "morals" of a "normal" marriage a.k.a straight marriage. It just sucks to think about it.
I don't want to whisper our identities with my friends. I don't want to draw rainbows in my notebook freely only because my mom will assume I like them aesthetically or whatever. I don't want others to assume I'm straight. I don't want them to assume I'm cis. I don't want to be careful with what I reveal about myself every time I speak. I don't want to hide.
I want to scream. I want them to know. I want them to know I'm gay, to know I'm a raging lesbian, to know that bisexuals exist, to know that I'm non-binary, to acknowledge the fact that I'm trans and fucking queer. That I'm here. That I exist. I want to feel alive. I WANT TO BE FREE.
random but the fact that forster seems to view clive with disdain by the end of the book (and in his afterword) kind of suggests this isn't just "who he is" naturally but like an act of cowardice or conformity?? an asexual clive works just fine within the story but makes foster's opinions on him seem super harsh/judgmental lol
that actually makes sense, and a big part of me thinks that forster didnt really intend clive to be asexual, but that became another way for his character to be interpreted (earlier critics don’t even mention alec being bisexual, and only say he ‘switches’ from heterosexuality to homosexuality by the end of the novel, which is so dumb??? but anyways lmao). in the terminal note, forster writes that clive ‘believed in platonic restraint and induced Maurice to acquiesce, which does not seem to me at all unlikely.’ so ‘believed in platonic restraint’ could refer to both asexuality and something that’s the result of an oppressive society, but its not necessary that forster intended the former and nor is it necessary for readers and critics to interpret only the latter. imo, people can interpret clive’s character both ways, and they can support that with textual evidence, which exists
you’re right, forster did write clive as a coward who marries a woman to safeguard his position in society (inspired by H. O. M, a close friend of forster who had a similar fate and consequently had a failing relationship/friendship with him), and if we interpret him as ace, then forster’s opinion of clive becomes harsh, but if we do consider interpretations that are independent from what the author intended, the author’s opinion isnt and shouldnt really be taken into account imo
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