justanexistentialist

Me: A moderate mixture of disturbing jokes and hopefully bearable metaphors. I like to write. Instagram:hiraa_amir11

[all-thewings]

I know a lot of you must be tired of me constantly talking about heartbreak, so I’m really sorry.

Listen to the playlist here

[wordsjunesaid]

Just like our life, hmm? We appear and we disappear. And we are so important to some, but we are just passing through.

Natalia (Before Midnight, 2013)

[salemwitchtrials-deactivated202]

Lady Lazarus, Sylvia Plath

[ID: Dying Is an art, like everything else. I do it exceptionally well. I do it so it feels like hell. I do it so it feels real.]

[sincerelysharon]

“and we come back to the same question in the end, what am i so angry about? and why, why does this uncertainty consume me so? i would like to know because i’m turning into someone i’m not sure of anymore and that’s worse than anger and fear put together.”

— calling your friend on the midnight train ride home, a bunch of unedited manuscripts, the feel of crumpled paper in your fist and the taste of red liquorice on his lips. // archaic remains 36

[poemswords]

“Sometimes you are going to miss a person who was an almost to you. And feel sad because there is no name for that feeling. You just feel it in a way that makes you tired to your very bones.”

— Nikita Gill, Almost Feelings (via books-n-quotes)

[americansport-deactivated201912]

should be my tinder bio lol

[especiallypeaches]

“Another text, sent. Don’t worry, I reason, it’s just empty interest. Except, empty interest isn’t doing either of us any favors. The sooner I stop keeping up the appearance that I’m ok being supportive and encouraging without seeing that in return, the better. You only miss what you don’t have and right now I’m giving you parts of myself you have not earned for a long time. It’s time you learned what missing that feels like.”

— time to break habits 

[vodkakilledtheteen]

“I’ve been trying to swim less in alcohol lately because I want to actually feel. I’m tired of making my mind numb to the truth. I’m tired of making myself dizzy so that I can stand being around people who put my heart at war with sadness. For once, I want to exist and swim in bettering myself.”

— Alexa Evangelista, the book i’ll never finish writing 

[vacantinkandprettypink-deactiva]

“22 years old, afraid to grow up, searching to be held in a mother’s arms, but I cannot give him that.”

— V.I.P.P.// The Seventh: Peter Pan

[ninetysevenweeks]

“Three months ago our bodies were so tangled up that our movements became as one but now we couldn’t even get near each other.”

—

[cameronbeyrent]

“I think the hardest thing in the world is having to admit to yourself that you’re the one to blame for everything that’s wrong with your life. But the reason that it’s the hardest thing in the world is because it’s also the scariest thing in the world—because people don’t tend to live very long after they finally realize that the call is coming from inside the house.”

— CAMERON BEYRENT

[vacantinkandprettypink-deactiva]

“City light consciousness; window mirror reflections; you do not know how much I miss the way your sleeves hang oversized upon your knuckles, or rather you do not know how much I long to hold them again.”

— V.I.P.P.

[vodkakilledtheteen]

“I once met a girl whose words were laced with cigarettes and Johnnie Walker. She told me that boys are a forest fire that will always linger. “They will tell you they love you, but give it a few months or so, and they’ll extinguish the fire they put in you just to burn someone else.” she said.”

— Alexa Evangelista

[tanya-nicole]

“We hold on so tightly, because we’re terrified of loss. We hold on till our hands bleed. And in that self-shattering persistence, we fail to see the answer: Just let go.”

— Yasmin Mogahed

[manderson1970060]

‪in my room, darkness contrasts digital clocks. my spirit soars, ascending the celing, traversing roof shingle and clouds ‬

[prospection]

The Dreamers (2003)

[theloudestthoughts2]

I got a text from a girl I met at a poetry convention, she said she liked my new piece of prose, specifically how I made something so gruesome seem so beautiful and I freeze, my fingers on the keys and my mind running over the same word again and again. Was what we had really that bad? Gruesome she said I wonder what made her choose that specific word, but more than that I wonder if that’s what it seems to an outsider, or was I just to ignorant (still am). I tell myself I’m writing this the wrong way, you were the guy who kept a bottle of my favourite perfume in his car for every time I smoked you’d never let me leave the car without spraying way too much on my clothes you didn’t want my mom to know, you’d say her trust is something I won’t ever get back the same way. You never let me take pictures because you knew it would be too painful to stare at them when you’re gone and you knew you were never one to stay. I want to write about us in a way that people call what we had something other than tragic but that’s not how writing works and you hurt me way too much so it all comes out in the form of prose that people end up calling gruesome and I end up feeling worse.