Sirdraken - Sirdraken

I was a gifted child. Until I wasn't. I was the golden girl. Until I couldn't burn anymore.

My parents expected me to build wings of gold and fly further than anyone could ever try. I don't blame them, having a child to raise is like sculpting a clay pot, you can shape it the way you like, paint it the colour you fancy. To raise a child is to play God. To raise a child is to be God.

But to be a child is to fall, to make mistakes, to fail. The thing about being too bright at an early age means you burn out by the time you're 16 and suddenly the world around you becomes more gray and terribly, terribly lonely. The fire is never warm enough, nothing is ever enough. And one day you find yourself begging to a godless sky, begging for a new spark.

I was a gifted child once. I was the golden girl. And one day, I burned out.

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

do i still love you? truthfully, i can’t imagine the day i won’t

it's a different kind of intimacy when you can tell that someone isn't feeling well while they're doing everything to hide their sadness. they become so familiar, you know their inside so well that their pain is seen by you, and most importantly safe with you

"Who's Sisyphus?" she asks. You begin to respond: "it's this myth about a guy being punished in the underworld where he has to-"

Her phone rings.

"One second," she says. A few minutes later, she prompts you to continue: "I'm sorry, I cut you off."

You start again. "Sisyphus is a-"

Her phone rings again. "Sorry, one sec."

“If you love a flower, don’t pick it. Because if you pick it up it dies and it ceases to be what you love. So if you love a flower, let it be. Love is not about possession. Love is about appreciation.”

— Osho

I can’t live without her (…) I couldn’t live with her either.

Franz Kafka, from The Diaries of Franz Kafka 1910-1923; “February 14, 1914”

“Wasn’t friendship its own miracle, the finding of another person who made the entire lonely world seem somehow less lonely? Wasn’t this house, this beauty, this comfort, this life a miracle?”

— Hanya Yanagihara, from A Little Life

— Speaking Tree, Joy Harjo

[text ID: I carry a yearning I cannot bear alone in the dark—]

“Anybody can look at you. It’s quite rare to find someone who sees the same world you see.”

— John Green, Turtles All the Way Down