this was a real place

A scrapbook of moments you almost forgot. But not quite.

[thiswasarealplace]

this was a real place.

not just a blog. not just an art project. this is a memory file corrupted beautifully.

for the queer kids who never saw themselves for the ones who had to shrink to survive for the ones still hiding

this is a place to remember who you were and reimagine who you could still be.

we’re not chasing nostalgia. we’re rewriting it.

come as you are, or as you were. every glitch is a truth worth keeping. every photo, a poem. every post, a little rebellion.

[thiswasarealplace]

You don’t remember what the joke was. Just that the sun was setting, your heart was light, and for once, being a little cringe felt like freedom.

[thiswasarealplace]

you were waiting at the light, just like always. but this time you noticed the sky. this time it felt like something was about to change.

[thiswasarealplace]

you laughed so hard your 3D glasses almost fell off. the room was buzzing, chaotic, unreal— but in this exact frame, everything felt perfectly real.

remember that feeling.

[unreadable]

[transfagholmes]

[ID: a red lorry that says, “PLEASE KEEP GOING. YOU’RE SO CLOSE”. On the back. End ID]

[thiswasarealplace]

this felt too important not to share <3

[thiswasarealplace]

you'll remember this moment of joy and optimism forever.

remember their smiles remember how the lights felt— like a dream, now, but you remember.

[thiswasarealplace]

It’s summer again. Not the real one— the one in your head. You’re barefoot on the lawn. Everything’s tilted, bright, and buzzing.

You don’t know who took the photo. But it’s exactly how it felt.

[thiswasarealplace]

[thiswasarealplace]

It’s 11:59 on New Year’s Eve. The room is loud, the flash is too bright, and everyone is pretending this means something.

You’re not sure where you are in this picture. But you remember how it felt to be the one behind the camera.

Your hands were cold. Your heart was hopeful. It was almost enough.

[thiswasarealplace]

This is where you learned how to lie beautifully.

How to write essays like defense mechanisms. How to hide behind metaphors. How to circle your thoughts with red ink and still get an A.

You never raised your hand. But you understood every subtext.

🎵 soundtrack: The Postal Service – “The District Sleeps Alone Tonight”

[thiswasarealplace]

Nothing Happened, and That Was the Point

You didn’t have the words for it back then—what you were feeling, or even why you needed to be alone.

But you knew the stillness mattered. That the lake could hold your thoughts without interrupting.

No noise. No music. Just water, rock, and breath.

You’ve been trying to get back to this moment ever since.

[thiswasarealplace]

You weren’t driving yet. Just sitting in the backseat, soundtracking your life like it was a movie.

The city felt massive—full of secrets and strangers and possibility. You didn’t know it then, but you were already writing your origin story.

📍Minneapolis, sometime in 200X. The sky was gray and so were your thoughts.

[thiswasarealplace]

It was always coldest in the liminal hours—before first bell, before the sun burned through the fog.

You never knew what to do with your hands. So you just stood there, waiting for something to happen.

It didn’t. Not really. But the fog made everything feel like it might.

[thiswasarealplace]

You’re not sure where you were going. Just that it was too early. The bus was cold, the windows fogged, and your thoughts were too big for your body.

You traced invisible messages into the glass and hoped no one was watching.