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[kosmogrl]

I will make a beautiful life for myself no matter how long it takes. I will I will I will

[booksquared]

Telemachus' Detachment by Louise Glück

[quotesfrombooksilike]

I often think of grief as a cycle from which there is no escape, an ouroboros, a snake of sorrow eating its tail.

- Karina Halle, Grave Matter

[wovi]

*

plath

[st4rg1r11]

talking to her friend, my mother said, "a new born baby's bones are soft, you can shape them while they are"

but mother my bones crack with grief, guilt and constant unreasonable melancholy

my bones ache with the passive longing of the childhood i never had

they want to crack open with the emotions filled in them and the constant tears that shed with it

oh mother, now that my bones are calcified, what do i do?

[paper-wounds]

[letsbelonelytogetherr]

— jay vespertine via letsbelonelytogetherr

[paper-wounds]

[inky-sun]

[st4rg1r11]

lately i have been feeling extremely nostalgic

lately i have been feeling extremely nostalgic, as if a piece of my past is screaming out to me in desperate need of my help i feel like i am in an eternal grieving phase grieving of things which don't even exist clearly in my head i dont know what to do with these feelings where to keep them how to resolve them how to even articulate them as if something is building in me but at the cost of losing what had been in me from a long time but how do i get out of it?

[goth-queen]

[carlkruse]

[st4rg1r11]

how wild it is to be reminded of a part of your past, screening as a well shot movie in front of your pupils, just by the whiff of a particular scent associated with that time.

I stumbled upon a whiff of my old t-shirt and i am 14 years old again.

[deathonthebeach]

An imagined version of yourself living happily in an alternate universe is a kind of dead wife

[st4rg1r11]

"The smell of trees in rain makes me nostalgic of a world I have never lived in and of the possibilities i never came across"

[thoughtkick]

“And when at last you find someone to whom you feel you can pour out your soul, you stop in shock at the words you utter— they are so rusty, so ugly, so meaningless and feeble from being kept in the small cramped dark inside you so long.”

— Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath

[goth-queen]