And if we are not monsters, we are martyrs And if we are not martyrs, we are sadists. And if not sadists, then jellied invertebrates awaiting the imminent back-bend. And the inconsistencies and the varying the ricocheting all leaving souls dazed in a stupor of confusion and falsified placidity. How has loving another become nothing. but a deranged game of seeing who can swing the widest between feebleness and power?
I believe in souls. In the cataclysm of an afterlife where our souls are drawn to those destined for us by vibrations and fate. I believe in the rhythmic movement between spirits that brings us together and pulls us apart. I believe that the universe churns for us, stirs for us, helping us move and flow to align with those designed for us. I believe that our souls can find pairings in an infinite amount of others. That the attraction of souls relies on the fibers of past, present, and future lives. That the travels of our souls engrain in us a memory deeper than our human minds can fathom. And that the delicate balance of the cosmos’ chaos faithfully works to help us find those meant for us.
She'd been sifting through the air for years, looking for molecules capable of being touched. Her fingers, well acquainted with emptiness, had always understood that some things are too transparent to ever be seen or felt, let alone held.
Grind my bones into the finest sand. File me down to dust. Pour the grains of my being into the glass prison of an hourglass. Keep me encapsulated by a fragile shell, where I can sink away the minutes for you, while you turn me on and over as you please. Maybe then I’ll finally be the shape that you desire me.
Do not envy the light cast by stars, For their light is the last of their life, as they ended years before. And do not tolerate a man who prefers the deceased light of a star Than the light of the sun. For a star’s light only cuts narrowly through darkness, While the sun’s eliminates it completely. Do not tolerate a man who doesn’t see the difference. You cannot make him appreciate the Sun In You.
Do not apologize for your wilting or your growth you may bloom inconsistently, but you are always a blossom.
I think that when you’re thirsty, when your soul is thirsty, you will drink from any body of water that you can find. We will drink water that tastes bitter or sour. Water that looks cloudy or foggy. Water that is tepid and unboiled. We will fill our canteens at the mouth of a river that we do not trust, because we are afraid we will never find another.
And how can we fly or freefall when we tie ourselves everyday to stationary things?
And maybe he did once, maybe he really did. Maybe once he chose you, he needed you, he wanted you, but you can’t live off of that. You can’t feed yourself with the hope of that. Stop devouring truths of the past. Just because he once did and you hope that he might again. Stop standing at the end of a vacant dinner table waiting to be fed. You can’t sustain yourself on something as unpredictable as the whims and wants of a man. And that's the only truth you should be consuming.
If you’re not waking up everyday and working on loving yourself I promise you that whatever you are working on is lacking. I promise that it is hallow without you. You can’t do anything authentically in this life if it isn’t built with love for yourself. Get your love right first.
We must stop shedding petals, just to make others comfortable.
Darling, don't ever try to force anything. You shouldn’t have to pry yourself to fit neatly into any space. You can’t cultivate love in vacancies. And you can’t fabricate life in atrocities. Whether it be a person or a place, you don’t have to stay.
All I ask is that you not pick me. For I have not spent all this time engulfing the soil with roots and blooming into the air with color just to be snatched from the ground, placed in a vase to drown. For I refuse to become your living decoration, silently fading.
I hope you know that you are magic; that you can cultivate magic, that your body holds magic, that it needs magic. Stop treating your body like it's a curse. You're that good magic and nothing else.
I had gotten to a point where I had started mistaking self-harm for self-help. I was lacerating myself over and over again just to keep the thought of you fresh, just to keep blood rushing to the surface. I was fixated on remembering through the means of self-destruction, and was convinced that it was therapeutic.
Its funny how sure you can be. How steadfast in your independence you can be. How firm in your standards and how unwilling to settle for less you can be. But in the essence of hope, and the desires of loving, and the needs of longing, how effortlessly you can ignore all you've learned and believed in before, and can step willingly into the chaos of a relationship that you know you don’t deserve