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Every time i say “it’s fine” a therapist gets their wings send tweet
“The Last Light”
(for the fireflies, and the children we once were)
We are the last to run barefoot through fields where the dusk once flickered with a thousand tiny stars stars that danced just for us, invisible to the grown until we pointed and whispered, “Look…”
We are the last to cup that trembling gold in our hands, a gentle pulsing heart cradled in wonder not to keep, only to marvel at before letting go.
Now the night grows quieter. Their lanterns dim under the weight of our cities, our poisons, our forgetting. And the wild, once full of songs we never learned the words to, begins to fall silent one creature at a time.
But hush don’t turn away. Not yet.
There is still a shimmer in the dark, still time to turn off the noise, to plant the green again, to teach our children not just names but reverence. To make room again for glow.
Their light is not lost, only waiting.
And perhaps, just perhaps, if we remember how to listen how to hold softly how to live gently they’ll come back.
Not for us, but for the ones who come after, who deserve to know that magic once flew in the shape of a spark.
And that we yes, we chose to protect it. - E. V. Carlson _________________ I wrote this poem after stumbling across a post that stopped me cold: We may be the last generation that will see fireflies. Something in me ached at those words. I thought of childhood summers, of magic flickering in the dark, of innocence we never thought could vanish. This poem is my way of mourning that (almost) loss, and maybe, just maybe, keeping the light alive.
Elephants remember what we forget
how to grieve,
how to love without words,
how to stand still
and feel the wind
as a blessing.
Their hearts are vast,
their joy, a trumpet in the dust.
They carry sorrow like a crown
and still, they dance. ✨🐘🍃
(E. V. Carlson)
🎥: @ blackgirlblueworld on IG
📍: @ hiddenforestelephantreserve on IG
My god, I adore Jenny Slate. ♥️
It would be nothing short of incredible to have someone who goes the extra mile, someone who makes the plan, sets it all in motion, and simply tells me, "Pack your bags," or, "I'm stopping by in ten, be ready." Because, truth be told, I am tired. Tired of always being the one who does more. The one who bridges the gaps, smooths the edges, holds the weight of all the little details. The one who loves by showing up, by planning, by giving without asking. And goddamn it, I deserve someone who loves me with that same energy. Someone who thinks, "She’s a lovely woman. How can I make her life lighter, brighter, easier?", because that's how I love.
And I shouldn't have to beg for that. I shouldn't have to remind anyone of my worth. It should be felt, known, and answered with action.
I dream of that day: when someone shows up, no prompting, no pushing, and says with a smile, "I've got this. You just need to show up."
Because I have been showing up for everyone else for far too long.
~ E. V. Carlson
I saw a creator I like pose a question earlier today: “Why are you single?” And it stuck with me. Not in a heavy way, just… reflective. It made me pause and sit with my own reasons. This is what I jotted down:
I’m single because I’ve done the work. Because I’ve been in love, in lust, in denial, in therapy. Because I’ve settled before, and I won’t do it again. Because I’ve had the kind of love that made me question my sanity, my worth, and my future. And I walked away. That takes guts most people don’t understand. I’m single because I know myself now. I know my red flags. I know the parts of me that still need healing, and I’m actively working not to let old patterns ruin something good. But let’s be clear. I’m not here to fix or carry anyone else. I want love that feels like partnership, not a project. I’ve healed too much to bleed for someone who won’t even bring a bandage. I want effort without prompting. Presence without excuses. Someone who shows up without needing to be chased or decoded like a cryptic text message. I don’t mind learning from each other in a relationship. Growth is part of the journey. But I’m not signing up to be someone’s unpaid therapist. I’m not a rehab house for broken men. I’ve felt the sting of being too much for someone who was never enough. I’ve heard “I love you” followed by silence when it mattered. And now? I’d rather be alone with my peace than partnered with someone who brings chaos. I’m single because I believe in love that’s expansive. Soulful. Soft where it counts and solid where it matters. And until I feel that again, until someone looks at me and truly sees me, chooses me, shows up for me with consistency and care, I’ll keep standing in my own light. Single doesn’t mean I’m lacking. It means I’ve made space for something worthy. Something sacred. Something real.
~ E. V. Carlson
“This morning I woke up so in love with you I didn't know what to do with my body, which was far from yours... I don't know how this happened. I just woke up one morning and you were the blood in all my poems.”
Clementine von Radics, “The Poet Refuses to See What Can Be Plainly Seen” from the collection In A Dream You Saw A Way To Survive.
We are not in the same room,
but I set the table for you anyway.
A fork.
A napkin.
A cup you once said reminded you of the sea.
You are far,
but I chop the herbs like you’ll be home soon.
I stir the sauce
like it’s your name in the pot
slow, careful, tender.
I do not ask you to cook.
I do not ask you to call.
I only ask that you exist
on the other end of the sky,
thinking of me
when the kettle sings.
Because this distance, this ache,
is not emptiness.
It is a room waiting for your shoes by the door.
It is my heart,
still making dinner
in case you come home hungry.
“I Set The Table Anyway” by E. V. Carlson
The hardest part of liking someone is pretending you're not hoping.
~ E. V. Carlson
Sometimes I think love is just two people deciding not to flinch at each other’s weird.
~ E. V. Carlson
Sometimes the hardest part of being a great catch, is accepting not everyone’s hands are strong enough to hold you.
#quote #quotes #qotd #potd #photooftheday #stevemaraboli #relationships #love #bestoftheday
Okay. I need to talk about something that’s been quietly ruining my life for years:
The song Somebody That I Used to Know by Gotye (yes, I had to look up the spelling; no shade to this man, wherever he is).
I could swear on my grandmother’s grave that this song was originally by Sting. Or maybe The Police. I was convinced for the longest time that Gotye’s version was a brilliant, moody cover of an older Sting song. The vocals, the melancholy, the guitar line, it screamed early Sting to me.
Googled it. I felt a little insane to be honest.
There’s nothing. No record. No evidence. Just my rogue little memory floating in the abyss, insisting on something that apparently never happened?? It’s not just déjà vu. It’s not nostalgia. This is some full-blown Mandela Effect madness.
I feel like I’ve been personally betrayed by reality.
And honestly? I’m still not entirely convinced I’m wrong.
~ E. V. Carlson
I truly believe that when we shift our mindset, when we start looking at life with a little more hope and compassion for ourselves, good things begin to flow in, even through the cracks. Especially through the cracks.
~ E. V. Carlson
Happy birthday, Vincent. You gave us beauty no one knew how to hold
l've always been drawn to people who burn a little brighter than the rest. The ones who feel everything, love too hard, and move through life like the world forgot its skin. That's probably why l've been obsessed with Vincent van Gogh for years. There's something about him that sits heavy in my chest. Not just the brush strokes, the wild skies, the yellow, but what was underneath it all. His art wasn't just pretty. It was honest. It held his ache, his longing, his hope. It looked like what it feels like to keep going when you're barely hanging on. And maybe that's why l've always felt so pulled to him, because I get it. That fire. That sadness. That feeling of being too much and never quite enough. His story has always hit close. The need to belong. The fear of being seen. The exhaustion of being soft in a world that rewards coldness. He was born in March, like me. An Aries. All instinct and intensity. Someone who didn't know how to be anything but everything. He lived in a time when mental illness was treated like a curse. People like him were pushed aside or locked up. But what if it had been different? What if he'd had a good doctor, the right meds, someone who actually listened? What if therapy had helped him rewrite the story his mother handed him, one soaked in grief, guilt, and the impossible shadow of a dead brother he was named after? I wonder how many more paintings he could've made. How many more years he might've had.
His work changed everything. And still, he died thinking he was a failure. So today, on his birthday, I'm holding space for the version of Vincent who got to stay. And for all of us who carry that same fire and are still here. Still burning. Still trying.
Happy birthday, Vincent. You gave us beauty no one knew how to hold. 💛✨🌻
~ E. V. Carlson . 🎂 March 30, 1853 ______ Vídeo: Dr. Who, S5 EP 10 - "Vincent and The Doctor"
The Blue Marble
Our lovely blue marble, our Earth
Cradled in space like a jewel at birth,
Spinning in silence, yet singing so loud,
With oceans that dance and mountains that bow.
She breathes through the forests, sighs in the breeze,
Paints dawn in gold and dusk on her knees.
She holds every story, both tender and wild,
A warrior, a mother, a curious child.
But we, her guests with fire in our hands,
Forget she is not ours to command.
Still, she forgives, oh, stubbornly true,
Our lovely blue marble, ancient and new.
~ E. V. Carlson
The real glow up was never external; it began in quiet whispers beneath the weight of doubt, in the moments no one saw, where I learned to forgive, to nurture, to gently rebuild.
From roots tangled in pain grew strength and tenderness, and as my heart softened and opened, my body simply followed, reflecting the quiet bloom that had long been flourishing within.
~ E. V. Carlson
Rumi said,
“You have to keep breaking your heart until it opens.” And I had my share of heartbreak so intense that I thought I’d die.
It’s open now. My heart is wide open.
All you have to do is walk in.
~ E. V. Carlson