sleeping alone in a room

for everyone who feels lost.

[sleepingaloneinaroom-blog]

questions for my almost ex who has resurfaced during quarantine

1. you were the first (and only) man i felt 100% safe around. did i ever tell you that when we were almost together? 

2. the time i felt the most loved in my whole life was the last time we had sex. did you feel it too? 

3. why did you not even want to try being with me? 

4. how is it possible that the idea of a relationship was so intolerable to you but everything else we did was ok? 

5. did you figure out what’s wrong with me? 

6. i have this theory that something is truly wrong with me at my core and somehow you can only figure it out by having sex with me. did you feel it? 

7. was i too fat for you? this can be separate or related to the previous question.

8. i’m pretty sure i’m meant to be alone and that no one will love me the way someone is supposed to love someone else so how can i let you go if this is the best it ever gets for me? 

9. did you ever like me even a little bit? 

10. will you ever want me as much as i wanted you? 

[quantumchild-deactivated2016120]

there is a particular sweetness in being alone because you do not have to be anything or say anything or try to feel anything you normally wouldn’t. but sometimes, perhaps when it is raining at 1:52 am, you will feel this wild ache—this longing, to want to try and be something or feel something for someone—for anyone

(i.t.) - this is what it is to be alone  (via uggggghhhhhh)

[aseaofquotes]

[aseaofquotes]

Dave Eggers, You Shall Know Our Velocity!

[wordsthat-speak]

The truth is that the more intimately you know someone, the more clearly you’ll see their flaws. That’s just the way it is. This is why marriages fail, why children are abandoned, why friendships don’t last. You might think you love someone until you see the way they act when they’re out of money or under pressure or hungry, for goodness’ sake. Love is something different. Love is choosing to serve someone and be with someone in spite of their filthy heart. Love is patient and kind, love is deliberate. Love is hard. Love is pain and sacrifice, it’s seeing the darkness in another person and defying the impulse to jump ship.

The Great Kamryn

Truth.

(via roseashar)

[allthingseurope]

Monsaraz, Portugal (by tm-tm)

[aseaofquotes]

Sydney Sheldon, The Dark Side of Midnight

[evocativesynthesis-blog]

St. Sofia Church, Harbin  (by hijackie23)

[firesfade-deactivated20141206]

You never need to apologize for how you chose to survive.

Clementine von Radics  (via thatkindofwoman)

[agarfield-deactivated20160309]

[aseaofquotes]

John Green, Looking for Alaska

[sleepingaloneinaroom-blog]

Sometimes I just get so irrationally angry. Maybe I should just let it go

[sleepingaloneinaroom-blog]

9:06 p.m.

inadequacy lives in my tear ducts. no wonder i cry so much

[sleepingaloneinaroom-blog]

fuck this graduation speech. i hate being forced to do something that i specifically didn't want to.

who am i to give advice to these strangers? who am i to sit here and tell everyone to make sure to march through life with a smile when i myself can't manage to do so?

[discolor3d]

[sleepingaloneinaroom-blog]

i can't even believe that i'm upset about this right now

[aseaofquotes]

Anonymous, Go Ask Alice

[sleepingaloneinaroom-blog]

     When I’m awake on Sunday mornings, most of the time yet to sleep, sometimes I think about those who pray. Those who are sitting in church, worshipping the altar while I huddle resolutely in my bed. I used to be one of them. I used to cry until they let me out.

     It was strange to me when I heard they arose at 5:30 to say their daily prayers. These children, whom God has forsaken, hold on to their desperate hope that somewhere someone recognizes their suffering and one day will release them.

     One day I arose with them, joined them on the floor of our makeshift church in supplication. There are no shortages of churches in Guatemala; there just isn’t one we can get to. Eyes drift shut and words whisper from mouths. The hymns are no more familiar to me in Spanish than they are in English.

     A tear shatters on the floor, a hand rises to wipe it, an eye peeks open, connects with mine and then slams shut in fear of punishment. I silently place her hand in mine, offering a piece of earthly comfort when the spiritual has failed. Mi mamá, she mouths as she glances to the heavens.

     I nod as if I understand her pain, knowing I never will. Her eyes drift shut, and it’s as if nothing had ever happened.

     The prayers around me crescendo and echo in my ears and I send my own curse to God, negating the prayers that threaten to drown me.

     If you really exist, then why do they suffer as they do? If it is in your power to give them back their families, their safety then why have you not done so?

     I refuse to believe in a God that has abandoned these orphans who have more light inside them than I could ever imagine. Until God himself explains to me why they cry themselves to sleep at night, I hate him.

     But as I mentally scream my curse at a God I’m not even sure is there, I am enveloped by the weighty whisper of the hymn around me. These abandoned children turn to God where I have turned my back on him. Suddenly, I pray that the God I have denounced as a sham truly does exist. It is he whom these children depend on. It is they who deserve salvation and redemption from a life they do not deserve.

     I do not know what it is that I deserve.