I Think I Love You.

I think it's beautiful how cute we get when we are lonely. Calling up our bestfriend to talk about just anything before they ask if anything's wrong. Telling them it is, you are intimidated by the changing ways of life because you were finally getting used to the quiet life. Remembering school and your after school ice-cream dates, driving up to that quiet place behind school property where you can see the most beautiful sunset in the city. Writing I miss you and wish you were here to each other. Telling each other, you'll meet soon. Hugging your pillow and falling asleep to the playlist they made you on one of your birthdays. My heart is too fragile for reminiscence. I don't know how to contain all these so I sleep.

The metaphysics of little things

I take an absolute pleasure out of existing day after day my spirit takes a simple turn for the loveliest of sentiments like washing my face in the shower and finding out I own a skin — a rosé, flushed skin and that my face in the mirror is so gentle because I become myself every time I look at it as if I had utter control over my forming substance — stirring cold milk on a hot afternoon

I think the fast paced society we live in currently has brainwashed me into thinking i can upgrade myself and my life just as fast as when i restart my computer or phone. I have forgotten the natural cycles of life… how the moon takes her time to be full or how the crops take their time to grow their fruits. 

Hit me like a truck bestie :")

if you were weirdly obsessed with going to boarding school as a kid then you’re queer and mentally ill now

"and perhaps it is the greater grief, after all, to be left on earth when another is gone."

-Madeline Miller

“my child is fine” your child has been listening to achilles come down for weeks on end

I am autumn in a tropical country.

I struggle with my identity when you paint me all orange and brown from memory. You make me miss a place I have never lived in, a place you had to leave to find me.

"I cannot make you understand. I cannot make anyone understand what is happening inside me. I cannot even explain it to myself."

-Franz Kafka, The Metamorphosis

who cares how you talk about love? be passionate about it if it lets you unleash the rotting fury on a world that isn't even alive enough to see the colour on your face when you are in love; be bitter if your broken heart pricks you from the inside; be warm about it if it kisses you goodnight; be cold if you are paralyzed by it. tell the world how you feel if that makes you feel lighter. pull a frank gallagher on your love life. be reckless.

Remember when Fleabag said, ""I want someone to tell me what to wear in the morning. I want someone to tell me what to wear EVERY morning. I want someone to tell me what to eat. What to like, what to hate, what to rage about, what to listen to, what band to like, what to buy tickets for, what to joke about, what not to joke about. I want someone to tell me what to believe in, who to vote for, who to love and how to tell them."

The last line made me think about this a lot. It's okay to be dependent for a bit, rest ourselves on someone else's shoulder without feeling like we are living a cliché.

actually, growing up is feeling like i turned sixteen two days ago. i’ve been eighteen for years. fifteen year olds seem so young. wasn’t i fifteen just a few weeks ago? all my friends and i are still twelve. i’m closer to thirty then to being a baby. i never got to be a kid. i never grew past eight. i can’t talk to my mom. i want to sit in her lap forever. the week is going by so slow. an entire year has passed. i want to decide everything for myself. i need someone to tell me exactly what to do.

Alias Grass ‘cause we go from grass to grace