Goddessdiviinee - 🌛

If blush blindness is a sin then I am guilty

How to let aunties know that you hate them?

Call them hot and happening

They say it's about the journey, not the destination. But have you thought about the promise of a starting point? A crossroad? The flicker of hope a choice gives you, the feeling of power surging through you veins no matter how disillusioned.

I've taken several trains in my life, never thought too much about it. But the platform? The cold bench which once seemed warm when I sat with you? Yeah, I don't think about that as much as I used to.

It's beautiful now, if you were wondering. The legs and the metallic armrests of the bench have served as an anchor for a creeping ivy to sustain itself. It could be a bougainvillea, I wouldn't be able to tell the difference. The only time I've paid attention was when I was picking one for you.

My father, when teaching me to calm my anxious mind, asked me to view myself in a black room with everything thought in my head- slowly pushing each one behind a closed door, clearing the space till it's just me. No matter how much I tried, I never got to the dark room. I was always left at the station, on our bench, with my last thought - your name.

Our fleeting forever, the starting point I'll always cherish because the journey continued despite my protests.

the soft girl aesthetic on my dash was suffering from the lack of you, you are a necessity

Aww I told you I am back for you guyss. Love seeing you in my notifss always

𝓈𝒶𝓀𝓊𝓇𝒶 𝓈𝒶𝓃𝓇𝒾𝑜 𝓅𝓁𝓊𝓈𝒽𝒾𝑒𝓈 ✿゙

I have a habit of leaving things unsaid for the sake of my peace:))

And if you're ever tired of bеin' known for who you know

You know that you'll always know me

my mother asked me "are you even straight?" to my statement of "If I EVER marry a man, that is.." and as soon as she says it, i go blank, and then like clouds emerging, i look at her, and I don't know what to say. I have practiced and practiced for this, but I..go blank. I jokingly say the closet is made of glass, but she doesn't get it. Your eyes come in front of me and I want to tell her that I like your eyes very much, and how the sunlight kisses your face, but my mother is not very fond of poetry. She says know yourself first, and I nod, I wish to say, I have known myself through her touch, her eyes, her hands, her body, her mind, her laugh. She touches me, and I know my body, her hands rake through my back, and I get to know I am ticklish at my back. She is my religion. I see myself in her, and her in me. I know myself when her lips, touch mine gently, with a fire of the unkown and the hunger of the known. She is my religion, and I kneel at her altar. I know myself best when I am kneeling at her altar.

I don't say this, so I just say, "I don't know, maybe"

maybe is your name.

Sylvia Plath, aged 29, after discovering her husband's affair, in a letter to Ruth Tiffany Barnhouse Beuscher, her former psychiatrist (dated Friday, 20 July 1962)