—mothers

style inspiration: @filmnoirsbian

He asked me when I fell in love with him and I knew it sounded dramatic to say the moment I saw him, so I told him this story of my grandma who had Alzheimer's- she forgot her name and the words for fruit and food, she forgot her address and how to use the washroom, all her life lost to the disease. The only thing she remembered was her son's name and when that began to fade, the one thing she always remembered was that she loved him, even in illness, even in insanity. She saw this 6 foot 2 man with a scrubby beard and she didn't know him but she said she trusted him, she asked him to hold her hand when she died. When does memory end and love begin? All I know is- she loved him before she remembered him.

-Ritika Jyala, excerpt from The world is a sphere of ice and our hands are made of fire

This is a pro-choice blog.

It’s an I wanted this baby but at my anatomy scan I found out my baby will die after it’s born blog.

It’s an I’m not financially, mentally or emotionally stable enough to bring a child into this world blog.

It’s an I can’t live with the result of my sexual assault blog.

It’s an I miscarried but the fetus will not evacuate on its own blog.

It’s an I will die if I carry this to term blog.

It’s an I don’t want to be fucking pregnant blog.

It’s a pro-choice blog.

If you see this decision as a win, educate yourself. People with uteruses WILL die. And if that’s okay with you, don’t claim you’re pro-life.

Oh, and a big, fat FUCK YOU.

Proclus once said:

"This therefore, is mathematics: she reminds you of the invisible forms of the soul; she gives life to her own discoveries; she awakens the mind and purifies the intellect; she brings to light our intrinsic ideas; she abolishes oblivion and ignorance which are ours by birth ..."

Man I love maths

This close 🤏 to walking into a mysterious fog and never coming back

Psyche Revived by Cupid’s Kiss by Antonio Canova

by Sappho

Litany in Which Certain Things Are Crossed Out by Richard Siken

To Fanny Brawne (13 October, 1819), John Keats

The Kiss, 1907 by Gustav Klimt

The Meeting in a Dream, Jorge Luis Borges

Holy Things in This World, Emery Allen

You Are Jeff by Richard Siken

i hope everything reminds you of me. not as a blessing, as a curse.

I have no idea how to rest. 🧍🏽‍♀️

I don’t know what I am without my textbooks. 🧍🏽‍♀️

complicated relationships with your parents are like. you cut up fruit and bring it to my room without me asking. i can't remember the last time you told me that you were proud of me. you told me i wasn't good enough for you but i'm not even good enough for myself. your hugs feel like coming home. i can't tell you anything that happens in my life. i doubt myself every day because of something you said to me when i was eight. would you like to hear about my day? please don't ask me about my day. i miss you even though you're in the next room. i wish we didn't live together. i've never loved or resented anyone as much as i've loved and resented you. are you okay? are we okay? are we ever going to be okay?