and somehow, it was enough

drew || xxi || extreme varric lover || deadmain for jostenne, chellick, and bokutoma

[tethrah]

prosopagnosia

i don’t recognize faces

i couldn’t tell if the man who 

took me home last night was you

or someone else entirely

but i thought that i recognized you,

felt you in the way he gripped me

a little too tightly for comfort

i don’t recognize faces

it started when i was barely more

than a child, barely a person

and you struck for the first time

lesions in my occipital lobe,

a handicap that i underestimated,

thinking that at least i knew

who, exactly, you were

i don’t recognize faces

and it had been so long the second time, ages

since i heard your voice

i forgot you, but my body did not.

by the time you touched my heart

it was too late to avoid another

crushing blow to the skull

[tethrah]

even when i am so sad i choke on air, i cannot cry it out

bottled up (via @igai-sei )

[tethrah]

Love the blog...😋

thanks!

[meanwhilepoetry]

I wonder if anyone ever considered that the dragon guarding the princess was really a metaphor for the princess’s strength, power, fire, all the things the prince could not handle and that his killing the dragon was destroying the part of her that was truly magical just so he could possess her, he could own her, he could have her and her crown. Maybe if the dragon defeated the prince for a change, her true happiness in genuinely being herself could be found.

Nikita Gill, Excerpt From: Rethinking The Fairytale

[jilliancares]

things writers can (probably) relate to

-making the facial expression your character’s making and trying to describe it

-writing entire scenes in your head as you shower and not remembering most of it by the time you get to your computer

-deciding you can’t do something you’ve been looking forward to until you write what you told yourself you were going to write, resulting in you laying in your bed doing nothing

-having two completely different ideas for your story to go in and both seem equally good but you can’t do both and you also can’t choose

-having docs with stories you know you’ll never finish but not deleting them anyway, even if they’re only a couple sentences long

-getting random bursts of productivity that could go towards homework or cleaning your room or writing and you know you’ll only be able to do one

-getting inspiration from the most random things

-writing at inopportune times because a perfect line or dialogue just popped into your head and you have to get it down before you forget it

-“what are you writing?” “……..a story”

- “what do you want to do when you grow up?” “uunnghnnggguughhhhh”

-reveling in the embarrassment you put your characters through

[strwbryfemme]

[writerlydays]

other writers: plan out their stories, have their characters figured out and know how they’re going to grow. write every day, keep hydrated.

me, a goblin: jump in headfirst with only a vague plan and a feeling. who are these characters?????? fuck if i know, we find out as we go! plot what plot? i’m just as surprised at this development as you are. writes only on full moons. only ingests caffeine. 

[elusive-suggestions]

i think we sometimes dream about the world above the earth,

and how we fell from it and slept as we plummeted and burned

but we can’t remember, because we will ache too much for home.

[faefolksuggestion]

Some of us remember all too well, and we dream of kissing aliens, because the humans tell us that is the only way to get back.

[tethrah]

prosopagnosia II

i don't recognize faces so when i saw you for the first time i thought you might be someone else someone whose teeth gnash in glee when i cry, whose nails dig and make me bleed apologies for things i didn't do you turned out to be a whole different kind of monster.

i don’t recognize faces, so when you grabbed my hand like it meant nothing (because it was nothing) i thought that this was something beautiful, something new, all mine and it was only for that moment, that i saw how it could seem like nothing, because it was nothing, at least to you

[tethrah]

it billows out from you, a dark cloud telling me i’m not what you want

sigh, haiku #63 ( @igai-sei )

[tethrah]

burn them off of me this isn’t who i am, not anymore, not you

fingertips, haiku #62 (igai-sei)

[tethrah]

prosopagnosia

i don’t recognize faces

i couldn’t tell if the man who 

took me home last night was you

or someone else entirely

but i thought that i recognized you,

felt you in the way he gripped me

a little too tightly for comfort

i don’t recognize faces

it started when i was barely more

than a child, barely a person

and you struck for the first time

lesions in my occipital lobe,

a handicap that i underestimated,

thinking that at least i knew

who, exactly, you were

i don’t recognize faces

and it had been so long the second time, ages

since i heard your voice

i forgot you, but my body did not.

by the time you touched my heart

it was too late to avoid another

crushing blow to the skull

[tethrah]

watch me message you on every account you have because i love you

i love you most

[tethrah]

sitting windowside, alone against the soft sky, desperate for news

waiting, haiku #61 (igai-sei)

[tethrah]

on falling

i did not fall; i was pushed, tumbling down that long flight of stairs, my arm snapping in half by stair twenty, my legs shattered, broken beyond repair, by stair fifty, and my skull, brain, splattered against that first floor landing, leaving naught but my Heart intact

[tethrah]

my lovely flower bloom, stiffened by unforgiving winds and sun blisters

spring, haiku #60 (igai-sei)

[redlipstickresurrected]

Yoonji Lee (Korean, based Seoul, South Korea) - With Her Demon, 2017 Digital Arts: Paintings