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How does one go back to the things they once loved?

I've been trying to write. I've been trying to read. I've been trying to drink coffee.

I've been trying to trace my steps back to my first loves.

I didn't know going back to those things that you once loved was hard. It scared me how things that I once said were a part of my soul feel like strangers.

Going back to things I loved before is like meeting an old version of me that I didn't even know I'd forgotten.

It's painful. But it also feels like I am slowly healing.

reblog if you’ve read fanfictions that are more professional, better written than some actual novels. I’m trying to see something

Franz Kafka 🥀

I was ashamed of myself when I realized life was a costume party and I attended with my real face.

For if you suffer your people to be ill-educated, and their manners to be corrupted from their infancy, and then punish them for those crimes to which their first education disposed them, what else is to be concluded from this, but that you first make thieves and then punish them. - Sir Thomas Moore

@promptsh20 brings you:

“Can we just stay like this?” A deep cuddling prompt list.

Digging at each others clothing in search of skin to feel even closer.

Tracing scars and pressing into beauty/birth marks.

Quietly waiting for their breathing to sync.

The silent agreement to only speak in whispers and murmurs.

“I’m sorry, I’m probably suffocating you.” “No, I don’t mind. If I do happen to suffocate, just know I died happy.”

Pecks and nose grazes over all areas of exposed skin.

“Do you want to cuddle?” “Yes, a million times yes.”

The small inkling of panic that the other may leave when they shift positions and then the relief when that’s all it was.

Falling in and out of sleep holding each other and admiring the other while they sleep.

“I needed this.”

Shared excitement over the prospect of a cuddle session after a long day.

One throwing their limbs over the other and the other holding them in place.

“I don’t really want to get up. I’m so comfortable right now.”

Rubbing gentle circles over the other’s back/lower back.

“Is this okay?”

Resting their head on the other’s chest and feeling completely relaxed by their heartbeat.

“I look forward to this everyday.”

Holding and cradling their face to study it, perhaps noticing something new. Something else to love.

“It’s that time already?”

Neither moving for hours, unless it’s to give the other a kiss or to move closer.

“Do you want me to hold you closer?” “No that’s not it, ugh—I just want to curl up inside you. Is that weird?”

Setting up or prepping a place together for cuddling purposes .

“Cuddling has never felt like this. I honestly feel like I’m melting into a puddle and my brain is mush. Or is it just this way with you?”

Heavily doting on each other, feeling lucky seeing the other vulnerable like this, even just knowing them like this.

“I’m sorry, I can’t do anything that’s going to take away from the cuddling.”

Helping each other find a comfortable cuddling position, it doesn’t take very long.

If by any means the other has to get up, a series releasing and detangling ensues.

“Oh my god, your such a cuddle bug.”

Being so wrap up in one another they forget about important bodily functions for example, hunger.

“Ah, there you go. Safe and sound, hm?”

Unfortunately, people have a right to decline your love no matter how pure your intentions are. You are not what they want, and that's okay.

For years, I’ve tucked away the thirst to create in the deepest corners of my heart. I squeezed it into the corner until it grew cobwebs and dust; until it became lost under the mess of my unstructured days; until it became nothing but wishing thinking of who could I be.

Coming into a new city made me feel small. Honestly, I still feel small and an untalented mess as days fly by.

Why can’t I be as outgoing and creative as the others?

Why can’t I be as smart?

Then, I realized, it’s not that I can’t. It’s that I don’t allow myself to.

I love plans. I love creating plans. I love planning what to do. I love listing my plans. Until I woke up one day that plan is all I’ve ever done.

It’s about time I start doing. It’s about time I come back to my first loves. It’s about time I clear the cobwebs and dust covering my thirst to create. It’s time I allow myself to try even if I’m unsure of what to do. It’s about time I grow and leap.

– Pablo Neruda, “One Hundred Love Sonnets: XVII” from The Essential Neruda: Selected Poems, edited by Mark Eisner.