Moona-257 - Things Ive Lost On The Way Here

feeling blue. like I tried to reach for something, something I felt my bones pop out of their sockets for, and it never existed in the first place. my nerve endings twisted around your name, my body tangled in your half empty desires. feeling like I’m drowning in the what ifs and unanswered questions. like. am I that easy to forget. did you ever really love me. was any of that real. were the last 8 months really that fucking empty. what a horrible mess we made, blue eyed boy. our love, a graveyard of everything we once promised each other

“(To be loved means to be consumed. To love means to radiate with inexhaustible light. To be loved is to pass away, to love is to endure.)”

— Rainer Maria Rilke, from The Notebooks of Malte Laurids Brigge. (via xshayarsha)

calling your lover "my lover" is the most TENDER and SOFT and HOMOEROTIC thing you can call them and we should do that more often as a society

JAMEELA JAMIL by Chantal Anderson for The New York Times (2019)

why limit yourself between choosing between a pretty feminine aesthetic or a dark one? if persephone can be the goddess of spring & queen of the underworld at the same time so can you

a brief primer for the hopeless days, part 2:

Rabindranath Tagore, Stray Birds (167) | Bertolt Brecht, ‘Motto’ | Anne Lamott, Bird by Bird  | Gregory Orr, Concerning the Book of the Body That Is the Beloved | Leonard Cohen, ‘Chelsea Hotel No. 2′

baby I can’t bear the thought of letting you down. you’re the one I dress up for, the one I cry in secret for. i don’t call you when the world is crumbling because I want you to believe that I’m successful and beautiful and strong. whenever I love someone new, I hide every breakdown like a secret shame. I know if you found out how frightened I actually am, you’ll leave. they always do. believe me, lover. I know how this story goes.

salting wounds with poetry, and counting losses with a pen that’s run dry. tomorrow will be one year since you hurt me for the first time (oh how quickly time flies). and it angers me that everyone can still read your name in between these lines, that your pulse is still the rhythm of my poetry (and my life).

how casually you haunt me, old friend. i am no longer afraid of the memories you left on my skin (though i moved cities to escape them) so perhaps i can call this a year of growth. but is it really, when i spent months trying to fight the urge my bones had to rearrange themselves into a different woman?

the 29th was hot last year, and it is hot today too. but i’m not that girl who was complacent in her own destruction anymore, no. ive left the demolition site for good.

now, i kiss the girl i was and i thank her for staying alive, hold her and say that i’m proud she survived.

Sweet and delicate

hey lovely i hope you’re doing okay!!!! i see you and your words and i want you to know you’re worth the world

hi, that means the absolute world to me angel. I’m struggling with my physical and mental health right now and it’s making me feel useless because I can’t function. hopefully it passes soon though, it always does :)

thank you for checking in honey