I think the worst part about outgrowing people is having to outgrow yourself. You don't know who you are without them but holding onto this version also feels like a real identity crisis.

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@theweightofexisting
I think the worst part about outgrowing people is having to outgrow yourself. You don't know who you are without them but holding onto this version also feels like a real identity crisis.
I crossed paths with a stranger today. Except I knew his love for cats and the color of his eyes. Funny how the only thing I never knew was if it meant something to him too.
i thought of your name before mine this morning. i wonder if a time will come when that’s all that’s left in me.
Someday, this bitter coldness will leave my heart, and I will learn to be without you. This coldness will turn into warmth, warmth for myself, and a little for you as well. Someday, I will never come back again. Perhaps you will be fine, just like you are now. The birds will return home, the sun will come down, as we remain under the same sky. Yet that is the tragedy of love, to exist within the folds of grief, for as long as I'm here.
And Maybe resentment is the last hue of you in my blood....
I think grief is the deepest thing I've ever felt. It exists even in the times my pain isn't poetic, like a warm coat to the heart on freezing days, most of all...It makes loneliness less lonelier.
I wish the best for you... Yet I hope grief rests quietly in some corner of your heart, just under the dust. Until one day, you pour your heart out, only to find me beneath that lingering dust.
The lips can be resentful with words,
but the eyes still look for you.
And one day, the lips went silent,
yet the eyes kept speaking,
kept searching,
hoping to someday never find you again.
Because how could silence compensate,
for the words the lips abandoned,
with a look you could never translate?
The lips can be resentful with words,
but the eyes still look for you.
And one day, the lips went silent,
yet the eyes kept speaking,
kept searching,
hoping to someday never find you again.
Because how could silence compensate,
for the words the lips abandoned,
with a look you could never translate?
There’s a bitter coldness in the air today, and the same bitterness sits in my morning coffee. maybe it’s all just the bitter taste of your resentful eyes.
Wait is a brutally selfless act of holding on for some, While a strangely selfish act of not letting go for others.
When you meet someone as pretty as a sunrise, nights are much like the end of life.
My favorite loser is me when I hold on a little tighter of things that are bound to fall apart.
No matter how multilingual love is, it's final language is always silence. There's a strange silence in accepting that they're gone and even a harder silence in accepting that you're okay with it.
Perhaps dedication is the not the process of conquest but a mere act of escapism from hopelessness and loathe.