But Who Cares? It's Just Us

It's always 'I love you' and never "kora kagaz tha yeh mann mera, likh liya naam ispe tera".

[Translation: My heart was a blank paper, but I wrote your name on it.]

womanhood and the inherent tragedy of it

“Stay afraid but do it anyway. What’s important is the action. You don’t have to wait to be confident. Just do it and eventually the confidence will follow.”

— Carrie Fisher

art galleries should be open 24hrs like what if I can’t sleep and wanna stare at a painting

mutuals i’d ominously stare at in a foggy gothic cemetery

If I had a nickel every time a guy in a dostoevsky novel has been attacked in the face and instead of challenging the offender to a duel as they did back in the 1800s they didn't do shit, I’d have two nickels

Are you straight?

don’t insult me

All my grief says the same thing— this isn't how it's supposed to be. And the world laughs, holds my hope by my throat, says: but this is how it is.

Fortesa Latifi // The Truth About Grief

No one talks about the transition from being the girl everyone respected too much to come forward to and the girl that everyone desires. To feel like you are never someone's first choice, just a woman they would eventually settle for. To never be the girl they passionately, intensely ache for. To be the one they're afraid to taint. The one they will compromise with. To be the girl that becomes the mother of their child, but never their love.

And suddenly, suddenly you're the girl of their desires. The one with a free spirit and reckless behaviors and self-sabotaging actions. The one that hates herself so much, she throttles her own soul to fit an ideal image of what a man yearns for. To be savage and soft, simultaneously. To gaze at a man like a siren and never admit to being hurt.

No one talks about how you slowly feel both of these girls within you amalgamate. So achingly, so abruptly, you feel yourself spiralling out of control. You jump, face first, infront of a moving train, you wrench your heart inside of your chest. You swallow the thought of not being loved. There is a perpetual knock at the base of your mind of someone burning to come out, to be heard, to be felt, to be accepted.

You either become the trophy wife, or the girl they never wed. No one talks about girls like us.

— fuck soulmates, be my academic rival