daylight;

I used to write here.

[inkskinned]

i think the moon would like you

[mjalti]

why? did she say something to you? tell me word for word

[inkskinned]

she said you are trying your best and she’s proud of you no matter what.

[wetheurban]

Breathe. You haven’t met all of you yet. There is so much more life to live.

[mournfulroses]

Marina Tsvetaeva, from a letter to Boris Pasternak, from a letter featured in Russian Psyche

[freshmoviequotes]

My Old Ass (2024)

[themostawesomebitch]

I turned 29 last week. 🌹

[themostawesomebitch]

My daylight.

[feral-ballad]

Rati Saxena, ed. by Kate Rogers and Viki Holmes, from Not a Muse: The Inner Lives of Women: A World Poetry Anthology; "Mountain nights"

[Text ID: “Last night / there was a dream / And / In the dream? You / You / You / And / Only you”]

[themostawesomebitch]

I haven't written in such a long time but ten minutes ago, I just finished typing a letter to my lover as he sleeps soundly next to me. This is the safest I have ever felt knowing that I am not pouring my heart out into words in vain.

Later, I will let him read it knowing that he's already aware of my heartbeats before I even translate them into phrases. To be loved is to be read even before I pen my writings down.

Here's an excerpt, "This love is peaceful and quiet but I wouldn't have it any other way."

If you're reading this, I am grateful for your time. I hope you're also lucky to have someone to come home to.

[chillpotato]

Sylvia Plath

[inkskinned]

you get used to it, but it's tiring, because they need you to understand your own life as a series of goalposts. what college are you going to, what's your major going to be, whatcha gonna do with that, oh where will you settle down, when can i expect grandkids.

for the longest time my goals have been so blurry that they track into each other, their undefined edges slipping quietly back into the soft night. today i want to be a writer; tomorrow i will want to be a doctor, later i will wish i took that law school free ride. how the fuck do people just know what they want to do with their life?

where do you want to be in five years? i want to be alive; which is a huge step for me. ten years ago i would have said i want to be asleep and meant i hope that i'm dead by then.

but i want a yellow kitchen and a stand mixer. i want a garden and a fruit tree (cherry, if i can make that happen) and a big yard for my dogs to play in. i want to come home and read poetry out loud to someone and have them close their eyes to listen. i want a summer watergun fight. i want to make snowmen. i want to be the house to go to for halloween. i want my life to settle around me in a softness, for it to lay down gently. if i am very, very, very lucky, i want to travel; finally go someplace overseas.

of course i don't know what i want to be doing professionally. what i actually want to be doing is curling up beside my dog, settling in to read. i want to be making myself a cup of good coffee.

i can't answer the other questions. whenever people asked me what do you want to be when you grow up, i used to say i hope i'm happy.

i hope i'm still kind, five years from now. i hope i never get jaded and mean. i hope i have stayed in therapy. what do you picture yourself doing? when will you actually be an adult about this? why are you so afraid of being ambitious?

am i not ambitious? the other day i rearranged my furniture which doesn't quite fit into my apartment. i watered my plants. i'm going to try to propagate a cherry seed. my five year goal is to spend more time laughing. to lie down in a patch of sunwarm moss. to relax for a minute. to close my eyes and think oh thank god. this is why i stayed. this is finally it.

[iambrillyant]

“forgive all the versions of yourself that operated out of fear instead of growth, the ones that viewed comfort zones as safe havens and abandoned boundaries to keep other people happy, forgive all the versions of yourself that didn’t know that love begins with how you treat you.”

— iambrillyant

[inkskinned]

i want to be loved gently. i want to be loved over a bowl of stew. i'm quieter, these days. i don't know that i ever really wanted a loud life anyway, but - i do get tired of being my own support structure. i get tired of having to paint myself brighter. i like the idea of holding someone else's brush. of letting them be my counterpoint, even if that takes trust. and yes; of course i have friends and family and loved ones.

but every once in a while, i think about how nice it would be to make two cups of coffee. i think about going to our local community theatre production just to support anybody on stage. i think about how i want to pack a cooler with little sandwiches cut into triangles and go on a day trip to somewhere new. to explore with somebody. to share that moment where something-is-new.

oh, my life is beautiful, i know that. but sometimes, in the quiet moments, the echo of what-is-gone comes back to me. i remember again the difference of being alone versus being lonely.

[wei--wuxian]

what are your twenties if not an endless string of the ghosts of who you thought you would become

[wei--wuxian]

it's okay to start over. (and over, and over, and over)

i'm halfway through now and dying for the second time. forgive yourself for it. as many times as it takes.

[lesbianboyfriend]

they should invent a loneliness that’s bearable

[lesbianboyfriend]

alternatively, they should invent a loneliness that i don’t have to bear

[typewriter-worries]

I am both wound and knife

Maria Nephele: A Poem in Two Voices, Odysseus Elytis ( @feral-ballad ) |  Giuditta con la testa di Oloferne, Fede Galizia | Judith, August Riedel | Ideology, Aria Aber ( @cithaerons ) | Courage, Anxiety and Despair: Watching the Battle,  James Sant | Vigil, Clementine von Radics

[frankiecorleone]

do it for her (your thirteen year old self)

[adoghurtling]

“And I saw it didn’t matter / who had loved me or who I loved. I was alone.”

— Dorianne Laux, from “After Twelve Days of Rain”, What We Carry (via wordscanbeenough)