wnq-writers:

There are stories only you have to tell, because there is no one who looks at the world in the way you do. There is no one else who listens to the whispers tucked in a soft breeze or understands the wilting petals whimpering. There is no one who feels the earth in the way you do. You are the one.

Ekta Somera

fell in love with a shooting star

randomly heard this on Spotify that day and it was a wormhole back to uni days and dancing with my eyes closed

mournfulroses:

“The words sounded as if they were floating like flowers on water,”

— Virginia Woolf, from “To The Lighthouse,” originally publ. c. 1927

and I’ll get along with you

i get too tired after midday lately

back to reality

looking at these photos makes me both immensely happy (that it happened) and sad (that’s it over).

I guess the only consolation is that we have a lifetime of this. well, interspersed with adulting and nights where I want to wrap myself like a burrito in a blanket and not say hi to the world.

But thank you still for being a godsend and for being the only one I’ll let in on those days/nights and thank you for bothering to poke your head in in the first place 😘

then and now - a matter of months and I’ve seemingly accomplished it, but what is the difference? is there a difference?

what have I gained?

the realisation that all I know - perhaps my whole life - is an inane pursuit of perfection. and an abject sense of loneliness.

perhaps I pursue with the optimism that it’ll bring me happiness but each time I realise - this. isn’t. It.

then what is?

what is…? I fear this string of crashes will eventually lead to a much bigger crash - one unlike that Saturday morning hangover I cant recover from.

the stillness after a personal victory

finally done

the hole in my right cheek, lets out more than I want you to know about me

oh, the first time that you touched me

so nice (lack of a better word but it was really just…nice) making new friends and catching up with old

<3 forever and always shuio

sunday evenings have become increasingly pensive. I’m so tired and deflated. I need sleep and I want so much to say “fuck it” to it all, but something…pride, guilt(?), responsibility(?!) hamstring me.

i have forgotten to dream. i thought I had found my “ikigai” or my sweet spot, but I’ve lost it.

while driving home last night, I turned on Cigarettes After Sex and I heard “Apocalypse” and I remember that late morning when I was lying in bed, between jobs and feeling thankful and hopeful about life.

1.5 years - is that all that is enough to beat it out of someone again?