#i never had

[sonuvablitz]

A lot of times people ask me "How do you have the courage to be yourself?" and I ask "How do you have the stamina to keep hiding?"

- Alok Vaid-Menon [x]

[vinndicate]

missing loving someone you never even loved before

this is for someone that i miss. someone that i love. or used to love. or something. i still love him. in a way. it’s weird. just read the goddamn poetry if you’re interested in my heart breaking into a million pieces.

you know i used to love you the way you spun those words around to create such a beautiful masterpiece i wanted that too i wanted you to turn me into a masterpiece into your masterpiece

but i guess it was never meant to be you closed yourself off to me i knew too i knew you did like me you told me yourself but then you didn't let yourself fall in love with me

am i your rosamond? so filled with love and care and i wanted to love you so bad are you my st. john? couldn't bring yourself to even care for me in that way you can't act on these feelings i guess i understand

so i'm moving on or at least i'm trying to but sometimes i see your name and the memories flood my brain like a hurricane that shakes me to my core and it hurts me my soul, my head every time i miss you so much but i guess you don't miss me too

so please i beg of you tell me why you left me with these feelings that consume me take them back i beg it hurts don't you see you closed yourself off to me and it hurts, it pains me but i guess it makes sense i guess if we were friends still i'd fall in love with you all over again

[sbnkalny]

Cousin

[happyvoidchaos]

not my normal post but something i felt hard today that i felt needed being shared.

I didn’t grow up with the kind of grandparent memories people talk about — the baking lessons, the stories, the hugs, the faces you can still picture years later.

Mine were gone too early for that.

But I remember the worlds they left behind.

I remember my grandfather’s house more clearly than I remember him.

The rundown covered pool deck.

The tiny pink‑tiled kitchen.

The laundry room that felt like a secret passageway.

The weird living room with the fishing‑net coffee table, the grandfather clock, the huge piano, and the swordfish sculpture that made no sense but somehow belonged there.

I remember his recliner — his chair — the place a quiet, tan, skinny Army man would sit without needing to say much.

I remember the garage overflowing with “might need this someday,” a habit my mom inherited from him… and somehow, even being adopted, I think I inherited it too.

I remember the upstairs rooms that smelled like dust and time.

The Sesame Street sheets my cousins and I sat on.

The puzzle on the table.

Wrapping presents at the kitchen table.

The pond with the fish — my favorite part — where I’d stand and watch them swirl like they were part of a secret world.

And then there’s my mom’s mom — the grandmother whose recipes I still have, even if I don’t have the memories to go with them.

I bake her cookies with my mom every Christmas.

Just me, my mom, and my grandmother’s recipe.

Three generations in one kitchen, even if one of them isn’t here anymore.

And the mac and cheese my mom makes — the one she learned from her mom — it’s still my favorite thing in the world.

It makes me happy every single time, like a piece of a memory I never got to have.

I don’t remember their faces.

I don’t remember their voices.

But I remember their worlds, their recipes, their habits, their objects, their traditions — the things they left behind that somehow still shaped me.

Maybe family isn’t just the people you knew.

Maybe it’s the places they built, the food they made, the things they kept, the rituals they passed down, the pieces of themselves that survived in the people who came after.

Maybe that’s how I remember them.

[torque-smackey]

Gorgeous photo edit I made of my lovely lionhead, my life blood, my steel bun, Sir Nano

[onceabigblog]

The girl I never had

[ichimacchus]

wth is this activation stuiff