ensaios sobre os restos da alma. Click to read entre o sangue e o relógio parado, by trice, a Substack publication. Launched an hour ago.
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@tulipwpepsi0kcal
ensaios sobre os restos da alma. Click to read entre o sangue e o relógio parado, by trice, a Substack publication. Launched an hour ago.
“why are you tired? you haven’t done anything all day” the simple fact that i exist drains me. hope this helps
stomach hurts from hunger. stomach hurts from eating. what the hell do yuou want from me you stupid fucking organ
the fact that i'm no longer the same age as the protagonists of novels and films i once connected to is so heartbreaking. there was a time when I looked forward to turning their age. i did. and i also outgrew them. i continue to age, but they don't; never will. the immortality of fiction is beautiful, but cruel.
i'm a narcotically enthralling girl, not from lament, but from the intoxication of existing. Words pour out of me like autumn leaves, dancing to the whims of the wind of my own introspection. i become poetry, blending with the inks of words, creating an abstract canvas of my own soul. in this space between lines, I am a girl who sheds conventions, floating between reality and fiction, exploring the subtle magic that inhabits the interstices of my own narrative.
I feel like an unfinished poem
*:・゚✧*:・゚ “i know you want to kiss me”
new year, old ghosts
i don't know when it started, but as long as i can remember, new year's eve has been bittersweet for me. as a child, the turn of the year was a spectacle of fireworks and promises, but me? i cried. not out of sadness, but because of the looming sense of loss. the so-called end. maybe it's cliché, but time has always had the power to suffocate me.
now, i'm a young adult woman trying to fit into this puzzle of existence. and irony knocks at the door because while before I mourned the end of a year, today I count the days for this cycle to close. strange, huh? but it's that December 31st carries with it this false aura of renewal, as if turning the page of the calendar could reset everything.
while the countdown echoes, I find myself wondering if I'll ever overcome this difficulty in accepting the end. Is finitude just an annoying quirk of youth? Or is it something we carry with us, like an inescapable baggage?
and then, we ask ourselves: is time really linear? Or just a sequence of moments we try to organize into an ordered calendar?
This eagerness for the end of the year, is it just a comforting illusion, a trick of the mind to believe that something will change?
however, deep down, life is made of these unanswered questions, these moments of reflection as we await the fireworks lighting up the sky. Does change lie in the calendar or in ourselves? Perhaps, the answer is in the ability to accept the ephemerality of life without getting lost in this maze of doubts
anyways
happy new year ! !
last night, i dove into the dazzling lights of a party that felt like a bubbling tale of laughter, awkward dances, and shared cigarettes. among the crowd, i found those party friends, a tribe of lost and found souls only in the dance floors and crowded bars.
we don't talk every day, we don't delve into life's dilemmas or share deep secrets. but when we gather, the chemistry is instant, as if the universe conspired to create a unique harmony. we dance together, laugh until tears stream down, and the night becomes a journey of fleeting stories.
communication between us is a subtle dance of flirts and glances, punctuated by messages marking the next party. do they think of me as much as I think of them? or are we just ephemeral characters in the nighttime landscape, destined to meet and lose ourselves in the beats of the music?
each encounter is like an exciting chapter in a summer romance, where the only constant is the uncertainty of what comes next. maybe we're just passing protagonists in the fleeting scenes of nightlife, destined to lose and find ourselves repeatedly.
I'm left with the lingering question:
are we fleeting memories or essential characters in each other's thoughts? the answer, like the next party, remains shrouded in mystery.
u know, sometimes I think the only reason I agree to a first date is for the goodbye kiss. It's like all that talk, drinks, and laughter are just a long introduction to the moment when he leans in, and I'll feel that kiss. It's the final test, the make-or-break.
and it's funny how, after the first date, I always end up getting a bit fed up with guys. It's like, during those initial hours, they're a blank canvas full of possibilities. But when the paint starts to dry, I realize I already know all the colors and nuances. Sometimes it feels like they're all following the same script, saying the same things.
so, there I am, sitting at a coffee table, dissecting every word spoken and wondering if a second chance is worth it. It's like I'm in a marathon of personality tasting, trying to find that unique flavor that makes me want more.
but deep down, I keep coming back to that goodbye kiss. Because, as cliché as it may sound, that's where the truth unfolds. That's where I find out if there's any spark, if there's something that makes me forget all the mundane conversations and laugh at the corny jokes.
so yeah, who knows, maybe one day I'll find someone who makes me want to repeat not just the goodbye kiss but the whole storyline that comes before it. Until then, I'll keep in this cycle of first dates and kisses that define destiny. After all, life is too short to waste time with boring men.
just become unemployed, i wish i was still 17
i like to lose myself in the smoke clouds, as if each exhale pushed reality a bit further away. the numbness spreads slowly, embracing every inch of my being. it's like the smoke is a cloak, wrapping my soul in a gentle stupor. it's like whispering secrets to the night, an intimate conversation with myself. the hours crawl by, and the world outside seems to vanish. the window is my accomplice, a silent witness to the smoke I exhale, an offering to the night sky. the city beyond feels distant, like a distant dream I can't reach. it's just me nd the night creating an ethereal bond with the darkness. sometimes, I think the dissipating smoke carries bits of my anxieties, turning them into ephemeral clouds that get lost in the vastness of the night. and for a moment, just a fleeting moment, I'm a creature of pure sensation, sliding between reality and dream. and, for an instant, it's just me. no voices. me.
the bitter taste mixes with the sweetness of lethargy
the end of the world
lately I've been thinking a lot about the end of the world. I know it won't be a sudden, dramatic explosion, but rather a slow decline, like a candle burning its last spark. I watch neighborhoods, cities, countries transform, becoming places that will soon be uninhabitable due to the relentless embrace of global warming. I question the validity of continuing to give myself entirely to a world that seems to be slowly falling apart. Maybe now is the time to embrace the least, find the beauty in the little things and make them my most. I desire, more than ever, to live intensely, explore unknown places and meet the souls that have not yet crossed my path.
i'm heading towards a sadness that creeps in like a poisonous snake, but I don't want to drown in it, not anymore. instead, I dance with it, like a lonely mermaid in the depths of the ocean. I feel the urgency to live, to feel each moment as if it were nature's last breath. the beauty hidden in the decay of things surrounds me, and I find refuge in the simplicity of the deserted streets and in intimate conversations under the starry sky.
the incessant search for the essence of existence consumes me, as if I were a flame burning on the border between love and desolation. the world falls apart before my eyes, but I can still glimpse its extraordinary complexity. It's as if this despair is the paint that colors my journey, and I use it to paint a unique and moving picture.
as dusk approaches and the stars light up timidly in the sky, I question whether, in the end, our existence is just a brief moment of light in the dark vastness of the universe. and yet it is in that brief moment that we find meaning, passion, and the ability to love. This is what I decide to invest in, despite the uncertainty that hangs over us. life is a song, and now I wish to sing it with all my being, letting my voice echo between the lines of eternity.
cunt