Game Changer & Make Some Noise
oozey mess
KIROKAZE
noise dept.
Keni
YOU ARE THE REASON
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No title available
#extradirty
Monterey Bay Aquarium
shark vs the universe
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
if i look back, i am lost
Cosimo Galluzzi
The Stonewall Inn
Phantogram Three
izzy's playlists!
Fai_Ryy
almost home
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seen from Nepal
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seen from Türkiye
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@tangiblehearts
I’m on a three day vacation from our home in Boston. I drove down to get out of the city and sit by the seaside. I do this from time to time, but it’s nice to know I can drive back to you, to solace after my time here. See, I’ve sat crying for three days straight and it’s not felt like a vacation at all. I get to drive back up to Boston to our little apartment to laugh and buy groceries with you.
Except I don’t. And three days has turned into three years.
I believe soulmates exist, but our trauma can make them unrecognizable to us.
A lot of people ask me what my biggest fear is, or what scares me most. And I know they expect an answer like heights, or closed spaces, or people dressed like animals, but how do I tell them that when I was 17 I took a class called Relationships For Life and I learned that most people fall out of love for the same reasons they fell in it. That their lover’s once endearing stubbornness has now become refusal to compromise and their one track mind is now immaturity and their bad habits that you once adored is now money down the drain. Their spontaneity becomes reckless and irresponsible and their feet up on your dash is no longer sexy, just another distraction in your busy life. Nothing saddens and scares me like the thought that I can become ugly to someone who once thought all the stars were in my eyes.
this fucks me up every single time
I never expected this to be my most popular poem out of the hundreds I’ve written. I was extremely bitter and sad when I wrote this and I left out the most beautiful part of that class.
After my teacher introduced us to this theory, she asked us, “is love a feeling? Or is it a choice?” We were all a bunch of teenagers. Naturally we said it was a feeling. She said that if we clung to that belief, we’d never have a lasting relationship of any sort.
She made us interview a dozen adults who were or had been married and we asked them about their marriages and why it lasted or why it failed. At the end, I asked every single person if love was an emotion or a choice.
Everybody said that it was a choice. It was a conscious commitment. It was something you choose to make work every day with a person who has chosen the same thing. They all said that at one point in their marriage, the “feeling of love” had vanished or faded and they weren’t happy. They said feelings are always changing and you cannot build something that will last on such a shaky foundation.
The married ones said that when things were bad, they chose to open the communication, chose to identify what broke and how to fix it, and chose to recreate something worth falling in love with.
The divorced ones said they chose to walk away.
Ever since that class, since that project, I never looked at relationships the same way. I understood why arranged marriages were successful. I discovered the difference in feelings and commitments. I’ve never gone for the person who makes my heart flutter or my head spin. I’ve chosen the people who were committed to choosing me, dedicated to finding something to adore even on the ugliest days.
I no longer fear the day someone who swore I was their universe can no longer see the stars in my eyes as long as they still choose to look until they find them again.
This is so fucking important and I think it’s something I needed right now
I once ate All American cheeseburgers on my grandparents front lawn with a boy I loved on the 4th of July. We watched fireworks and giggled for hours and I hadn’t known much loss at that point but something inside me told me to archive the moment because it was one of those rare occurrences where love, time, senses, nostalgia, and innocence intercede synonymously to create perfection, something I’ve learned life produces sparingly.
I find a lot of what I’ve learned from my interactions with people are things I then have to unlearn.
Can you forgo all you feel, all you know, all you have to offer the world just to merely survive it?
Now that I’ve known you I can’t go back to who I was before. I can’t even pretend like I used to. I found someone who allowed me to be wholly myself for so long that I’ve forgotten what protected me was my chameleon nature. Everything has changed and I can’t live like I used to, I don’t want to anymore.
My ability to idealize the past and find beauty in the ugly might be the two biggest tragedies of my life.
You’re just a spiderweb I keep getting caught in.
I think I’ve been loved shallowly by a lot of people, but all I’ve ever wanted was to be loved deeply by one.
I’ve become quite selective in who I share my time with. Not because I don’t love and crave human connection, but because I’m wary of opening myself up to another person only to find what I assumed to be a bond as solid as oak disintegrated into a pile of ash in front of me.
I can’t stand how disposable people have become to one another, how meaningless our unique and subtle intricacies. Our vast and blazing souls slowly becoming a mere flicker in the reflection of someone’s blackened pupils. How they leave to find warmth by another fire instead of adding more wood to the flame in front of them. We leave people when it’s inconvenient because they’re of little value to us. We’re so lazy, so desensitized to the depth of a human spirit, to the embers that beg to be poked and prodded once more. I’m tired of losing people I can’t seem to ever forget. There are wildfires alive in my memories but only heaps of ash left in my life.
I find being a friend incredibly difficult. I spent the first twenty-five years of my life giving myself, all of myself to people. They would take what was given and I’d be left empty. The last few years I’ve lost almost everyone in an attempt to give more to myself.
I suppose I’d just like to have a friend to sit and have tea with every week. One friend, my lover, and my family. I think I could do that really well.
My soul didn’t love you, my trauma did.
You use your wandering eye and anxious need for constant stimulation as a means to prove you’re exciting. But you’re not exciting, you’re recklessly in search of absolutely nothing. There is no depth to your journey, to you. No matter how much you splash around and murky the water, an intellectual can spot it’s shallowness instantly. You are a fraud in that regard and incessantly boring because you haven’t learned that being excitable is not the same as being exciting.
I have to balance my pleasure with pain, otherwise I’d never create anything meaningful.
The dusty corners of your soul, the things that live there never leave when you don’t pay them attention, they just get dustier. But you still know they’re there. Sometimes you look to them and dust them off, reminisce with them and realize how much you loved them, how much you still love them.
“I knew you’d come back. I saved your shadow for you.”
