scherzo in b minor

and we'll all float on okay

[scherzoinbminor]

[scherzoinbminor]

this game told us that even in 1999, all are welcome, all are united, sports are for everybody

[misssophiamarie]

“my thoughts cannot move an inch without bumping into some piece of you”

— A quote I found written on a newspaper on a train the other day (via quiettea)

[scherzoinbminor]

When I asked for honesty, you gave me half-truths, distance, and AI generated replies. I tore myself apart trying to understand what happened, trying to find clarity in places you had already closed off.

In hindsight I could have always done better, but I don't regret the ways I loved you. I shared my day-to-day, I asked about yours, I invited you to travel with me wherever I would go, although I could tell you never wanted to come. Maybe it was impossible to overcome our incompatibilities from the start.

You will never say sorry in the way I needed; you probably will never even look back. But I will be grateful for what we shared, and grow from what we couldn't keep.

[weltenwellen]

Joy Sullivan, from “Culpable”, Instructions for Traveling West

[scherzoinbminor]

from ig @ kxvgreenwalt

[scherzoinbminor]

i miss the way you smell like clean laundry

i miss your large hands and crooked fingers, and the way you like to rub my thumb when we walk hand in hand

i miss your soft cheeks

i miss your fluffy hair that bounces like palm tree fronds when you've just gotten out of bed

i miss the way you look as if you are angry all the time, but then your unexpected smile lights up your face

i miss how gentle you are with your baby nephews

i miss sleeping with my head on your shoulder, even when your snoring kept me awake

i miss your soft voice

i miss the way you would ramble endlessly about any topic, and how sometimes you misunderstood what i said and talked about something completely different (i wish i had been more patient with you)

i miss your green stussy hoodie, your black arcteryx jacket, your yankees baseball cap (i wish i had taken it when you offered it to me), your nike killshots

i miss how you used to send me pictures of your cooking

i miss all the silly little things you did to make me laugh

i miss the way you said my name

i miss the way you used to love me

[scherzoinbminor]

The most dangerous part of holding on is that it starts to feel noble, like loyalty.

[blossomfully]

“If I could have done it all again, I would have loved you better. But I could not have loved you more.”

— Sue Zhao // “I loved you in all the ways that I could”

[dragonsareawesome123]

Screenplay written by Celine Song

Past Lives (2023) dir. Celine Song

[totalsellout]

花樣年華 / IN THE MOOD FOR LOVE (2000) DIRECTED BY WONG KAR-WAI

[scherzoinbminor]

I will love you if I never see you again, and I will love you if I see you every Tuesday. I will love you as misfortune loves orphans, as fire loves innocence and as justice loves to sit and watch while everything goes wrong. I will love you until all the codes and hearts have been broken and until every anagram and egg has been unscrambled. I will love you as we grow older, which has just happened, and has happened again, and happened several days ago, continuously, and then several years before that, and will continue to happen as the spinning hands of every clock and the flipping pages of every calendar mark the passage of time. I will love you as we find ourselves farther and farther from one another, where once we were so close that we could slip the curved straw, and the long, slender spoon, between our lips and fingers respectively. I will love you until the chances of us running into one another slip from skim to zero, and until your face is fogged by distant memory. I will love you if you don’t marry me. I will love you if you marry someone else and I will love you if you have a child, and I will love you if you have two children, or three children, or even more, although I personally think three is plenty, and I will love you if you never marry at all, and never have children, and spend your years wishing you had married me after all, and I must say that on late, cold nights I prefer this scenario out of all the scenarios I have mentioned. That, Beatrice, is how I will love you even as the world goes on its wicked way.

[chronovus]

OH MY GOD?! THEM?!!

[scherzoinbminor]

You let things fester in silence. Your guilt, insecurities, discomfort became a narrative in your head that shaped how you saw our relationship. You didn't come to me, didn't give us the chance to work on things together, and now you're processing everything as if it's already final. You broke this relationship yourself before breaking it with me. Your message written like a confession after the decision leaves me at the edge of a cliff looking down at nothing; there is no closure.

I still hope that you'll respond to me with the same care I still give you. Your silence is another heartbreak. I miss the daily rhythm with you, the comfort of your voice and immediate presence. It's a quiet rejection when I send a message, and I wait... and wait... and get a nothing but short reply hours later.

But I can't let You go. I need to stay connected, to soften this crash. I keep our thread alive, but every slow reply chips away at me. I'm draining myself in fear of disappearing from your world entirely, worried that if I step back, you'll move on, forget me, and let go completely. Small talk costs you nothing, but I cling to even a scrap of attention. But I know this version of you I am talking to is a different person; I'm talking to Your emotional ghost.

I am a willing prisoner, chaining myself to you while you're walking away. I'm afraid of Your loss more than my pain. You don't show that you want to stay emotionally close, and you aren't obligated to! But I still sit at your table, hoping to taste your cooking, starving myself. I know it's not enough, it's just that letting go feels like death.

I'm not just mourning what was between us, I'm watching pieces of it being given to someone else. The familiar ways You used to care for me--the time, the game, the "good mornings", "sweet dreams", and "I love yous"--all these little things that made me feel chosen are no longer special. I spiral wondering what else you are hiding from me, if you are spending time with her right now. I'm afraid you're reliving the good parts of our relationship with someone new, while I'm left grieving the You who used to choose me. And when you give me these slow, shallow responses, I wonder if you're just responding out of guilt, humoring me, tolerating me. It is a hard fall.

[scherzoinbminor]

I didn't know I could break this hard.

There's a gaping hole near the top of my sternum. It's centered on my chest--not over my heart, but perhaps where my soul is housed. When I think of you thinking of her, it burns. With each message, each word, each thought, you fill me smoldering coals, placing them slowly one by one. My flesh sears and turns black. When did you tear me open?

I write and write and write, as if the act of remembering you can help me forget.

[scherzoinbminor]

The first bird I searched for was the nightjar, which used to nest in the valley. Its song is like the sound of a stream of wine spilling from a height into a deep and booming cask. It is an odorous sound, with a bouquet that rises to the quiet sky. In the glare of day it would seem thinner and drier, but dusk mellows it and gives it vintage. If a song could smell, this song would smell of crushed grapes and almonds and dark wood. The sound spills out, and none of it is lost. The whole wood brims with it.

[scherzoinbminor]

We weep for a bird’s cry, but not for a fish’s blood. Blessed are those with a voice.