Thoughts of an Angel

Physiotherapist. Writer. Editor. Food for the brain. Sentiments. Poems. Soliloquy.

[remanence-of-love]

[originalromanticsir]

You did the best you could, and that is always enough. You can't replay your life. Be kind to yourself.

[thereadmind]

[thereadmind]

[thoughtsofan-angel]

I lost a bestfriend last night. Perhaps our friendship has been slipping off my fingers for so long, but it ended for good - finally.

The back story? The other side of the coin entails a decade worth of memories - a long list of what could have went wrong.

Has it ever occured to you? No matter how you care for certain people, things took a toll and you just want to be set free from their double standards and expectations.

Rather grieving, why is my heart celebrating? A thorn plucked out of my chest, a heavy cloud blown by the wind, a weight lifted on my shoulders.

Is this what it feels like? To be free, to be yourself.

Here's to never pretending again.

[remanence-of-love]

[thoughtsofan-angel]

I loved you too early....

You loved me too late.

[letsbelonelytogetherr]

— Nipuna Mehta (via @nipsyyy)

[remanence-of-love]

[prisonofsociety-deactivated2014]

Reblog if it's okay to befriend you, ask questions, ask for advice, rant, vent, let something off your chest, or just have a nice chat.

[thoughtsofan-angel]

Of all the love letters I've written, do you have a favorite?

For I am a gallery of your love throughout the years.

As we enter the coming chapters of our love story,

Never will I get enough of writing for you, about you.

[writingbyrosalind]

Hypersexuality

Dry skin, course like sandpaper it's not your fault at all. I can imagine dragging my nails across that back like an emory board. But I can't imagine kissing you, your scent fills my lungs I can't tell if I love or hate it. I wake up every morning, with your scent, it's stained onto my clothes, my skin. When I hold your hand, I get hot, my palm feels like a flooded gate. Can I really thing about sex, when there's no attraction to you, at the very least. It just doesn't make sense, can I imagine your cock when I inevitably rub myself at night? Is it you that I really think about? Or is it just some fucked up version, that I made up for my mind. I've thought about running my hands through that dry, dead hair of yours. Wondering what it might feel like in my hands, wondering if I'll like it. Do I actually enjoy this feeling, or is it just my awful brain? My awful sensuality and sex drive that makes me hate myself at night. Do I really like you or am I just lonely?

[mournfulroses]

Anaïs Nin, from a diary entry featured in Nearer the Moon: The Previously Unpublished Unexpurgated Diary, 1937-1939

[deviika]

Imam Al-Ghazali // Tennessee Williams

[half-a-corpse-half-a-poet]

-Zoë Lianne

[half-a-corpse-half-a-poet]

Shame Is an Ocean I Swim Across: Poems by Mary Lambert

[thoughtsofan-angel]

I know you get breathless whenever I... "About what you did before, can i ask?"

You think, "When will this last?"

Feels like a cold splash of water thrown at you

Despite the efforts, I still feel all blue

Forgive me, my love, for the past is still daunting

Here I am, still writing

Please don't ever leave

I write so you can breathe

[traumasurvivors]

I think what some people don’t realize is that for a lot of us, healing isn’t about “getting over” trauma… It’s about learning to live with it. 

For some of us, it’s about the good days outweighing the bad days. It’s about being able to more efficiently use coping skills when it comes to our emotions and triggers. 

I can’t speak for anyone else, but when I think of my healing… I never picture a world where my trauma is miraculously non existent. I picture a world where I am someone who is able to cope with the hardships of it and still be able to live my life and find happiness in it.