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@tobeinfinitee
you drove to your parents house and we talked about everything we talked about how much it sucked, but no matter what, we had to remain nothing
it’s been a year since i’ve listened to this, i think. i forgot how much i love it. i love it so much.
schuyler peck / insta: hiitssky
the same thing happens every five months. i promise myself im going to get better. i buy a new notebook. i colorcode my lists. i take notes. i go to the gym and i eat healthy and i text my friends.
and one by one, effortless, i watch myself drop them again. my notebook becomes scribbles and what is wrong with me, why can’t i wake up? what is the point of a list, i’m not going to do it. notes are nothing, i’m not going to look back at them anyway. the gym is too tiring and i just want to eat whatever i can and my friends aren’t even really my friends, they’re just people who tolerate having me around.Â
sometimes the crawling back … just feels like too much. the cycle again, the new “this time i’ll be enough.”Â
text on mustard yellow
Baby don't you know the whole world is different now. I'm falling back in love with cliches. Every sunset and four leaf clover and fairy light moment. All hopscotch and garden gnomes and bonfires. I'm done with irony and playing hard to get or being the person who wins by caring less. I am living joyfully for ugly clothes and bad art and singing loudly and eating well and kissing any person that lets me. No more hiding. I got two shaky hands but if you take em, we can go dancing. Don't you know spring has sprung? Follow me up. Come play in the sun.
how do i say “the smell of the people u love is something u know innately & is deeply comforting & while i’ll never know my own smell i hope that it’s nice & learning someone’s smell means that u just … know it for like, ever, even if u can’t clearly articulate what it is actually like” without sounding like a huge creep that smells people
Sometimes I wish I knew what you were thinking. How you felt. What you weren't saying. My mama always said I'm gonna get myself hurt. But it's better now than before I get too attached and sign up for worse.
for some reason i think about you loudly. like i’ve thought about just about anything under the sun. i’ve thought about how hungry leaves look right before a storm. i’ve thought about hands and the structure of holding and how when we look at someone, in some way, we are holding them inside of us. i have thought about how when people leave your life, they also leave behind broken habits - not just their habits, but the shared habits of inside jokes and meeting spaces. i have thought about dogs and fisher cats and how to love without being selfish.
but you are a loud thought. i will be thinking about cookies, or about how tender it is to grow flowers - and i will find myself thinking about you. you swell up and block everything else out. you become the sun. a ringing in my ears, all sweet in its siren, all fluid, all open ache. in the middle of movies, of conversations, of collecting my life, you simply slip in between the cracks. and i am thinking about you again.
Danusha Laméris, Bonfire Opera: Poems
Relationships are not transactional. My mama always said they were more like a dance. This friendship is a foxtrot, all light feet and laughter. A waltz of old friends, the tango of the unspoken almost-something, the maybe-modern maybe-classic ballet/rhumba variation of best friends that simply see a movement and fall in step.
It is important, is all, to notice how often you extend a hand and lead the waltz. How often they leave you, hand out, hurting. Would they pick you up from the sidelines. Would they make some fragile excuses. Is this person your dance partner or are they your ruin. Do they care about you, baby. Will they cross the floor backwards on heels. Will they be there when you falter. How quickly do they forget you. What do you feel.
It was easier for me to empty myself in to the toilet bowl than face the big bad wolf of my trauma. Only one thing mattered when I was busy shoving my fingers down my throat — that I was as empty as I felt, that there was no more poison inside of me and I swear this was coping. There is a moment after you’ve finished and you sit on the cold, hard bathroom floor there is nothing, you are nothing and nothing matters in that moment. My words trapped inside of me, losing my voice from the acid tearing down my walls and letting them swell. I wish my pain would spill out as easy as tonight’s dinner. I wish I could flush it all away into the vastness of this world, wash my hands and carry on. So when the therapist tries to bring the big bad wolf into the room and there is no where for me to empty myself in, she holds my pain in her hands and tells me it doesn’t have to be like this. Sit with the pain and let it digest. The wolf will always be inside of you, he’s only big and bad if you let him be.
— Hannah Green, from “I am bigger than my trauma.” ©
I will not have you without the darkness that hides within you. I will not let you have me without the madness that makes me. If our demons cannot dance, neither can we.
— Nikita Gill
