neosolipsism
14K posts
it’s just me orbiting around you, or maybe I have it backwards
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Let your veins spill the colours of the earth
Let the angels drink their fill.
Getting drunk on the joys of your youth,
Let no one silence your mouth.
You are sunshine!
A brilliant goddess of desire
And nothing shall withstand your almighty glow.
Everywhere you dance the world smiles back in delight
And darkness is banished by your tread.
You trade beauty for might and your wisdom conquers all greed.
With you there is no nurture of evil deeds.
Dance on sweet princess through the dew of your innocence
Carry on your sunbeams into the night
And may your light shine through into my dreams
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I keep thinking you’re going to walk through the door
That sheepish grin on your face and you say
“What? I was just smoking a stoge”
And we’ll laugh and you’ll pick up your guitar
And everything will be okay again
I keep thinking there will be one more day
One more song
One more chess game
I don’t know how to tell you I miss you
But not just you
I miss your favorite places
And saying hi to your mom
And ordering your coffee for you because you can’t remember how it goes
I wish I could tell you that I can’t listen to those songs anymore
And that smoking light blues makes me cry
And that it doesn’t matter how much you hurt me
I wish I could tell you that I just miss you
And all the things that are you
That were me
And all the things that will never be again.
I keep thinking you’re going to walk through that door
But I have to remind myself
It’s an empty doorway and I am all that remains
Empty
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“I’m sorry for existing in a way that was inconvenient to your narrative”
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“Send me pictures of your life”
So you can comfort yourself and make believe that I’m doing well. That you made the right choice and I’m finally taking care of myself. So you can look at all the crazy wonderful beautiful things I do and smile as you think about me doing them. So you can ease your guilt and tell yourself it was me who would leave all along. So you can tell yourself that I’ll be okay and it wasn’t all that bad after all.
Okay.
But I won’t send you pictures of the six hours I spent sitting in the dark considering bleach as a chaser for Jack.
I won’t send you pictures of the notes I write, saying goodbye to all the people I’ve ever loved
Or of the little pieces of steel I’ve taken to carrying around with me, in the hopes that they’ll be convenient when that little irritation finally gets the better of me.
I will send you beautiful pictures of art, of cliff faces, and the ocean.
Of hermit crabs and dinosaurs, old cigarettes and shitty motels.
The dirty grit of life you made me love so much.
I will send you pictures of my life and wait for hours for responses I know you think of but never send. I will send you pictures of my life and you will believe that this is real and everything is fine
And I won’t spoil the daydream by sending you pictures of my death
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And in the end, I was nothing special at all. I was just a girl who loved a boy, very, very much.
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Every time I look at you, you stare back with those sad brown eyes the color of your guitar, and I suddenly love you so much more than you will ever know. You will never understand, that this hurt me too.
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not changing ur url to maintain your brand recognition
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“He said that We can Still be friends. But I think He meant that We can Be the kind of Strangers that share Silent memories and A passing smile Every once in a while.”
— (via tullipsink)
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I think when you’re 16 you don’t expect it to hurt as much as it does but what the fuck would you know about love till it slams into your chest and knocks the wind out of your lungs so you fall in love and he leaves and you stop washing your hair and your skin is bruised with the creases in your sheet and your mother wants to yell at you but your blank stare just makes her eyes tear up and you’re not supposed to see your mother cry and you’ll probably try destroying yourself because that’s what you do when you’re 16 so you’ll pull apart razors and hide them someplace your parents can find them but they never do and you’ll start smoking even though it makes you cough so hard you throw up and you can’t stand the burning in your throat and you’ll run away without ever leaving your bedroom and maybe you’ll kiss too many boys who mean nothing but mean all too much and they will all look a little like him or nothing at all and you let him fuck you up and you leave him drunk voicemails and you haven’t cried in 23 days even though you’re always crying and you promise you will never love anything again because it hurts more than they warned no one told you that this was love maybe it’s more maybe it’s something from another world maybe it’s just your bones breaking again either way it fucking burns and now you’re older and you know to expect to come out the other side missing a few pieces of yourself but sometimes you get caught up and you forgot that it’s supposed to hurt because it’s not supposed to fucking hurt and you blink and you’re bleeding again and it’s like you’re 16 all over again trying to rip yourself to shreds while you try to pick up all the pieces of yourself everyone thinks you’re mysterious because your mouth is sewn shut with the sudden death of past loves but you’re just so fucking quiet because they’ve taken so much out of you, you can hardly open your eyes, forget about your mouth, and I guess the worst part about love dying out is that you don’t die with it,
you just attend the funeral and visit the grave every time you’re drunk. you’re always so goddamn drunk.
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“Once there was a little girl She had long golden hair And sunshine in her smile But her skies were grey And she ignored them For as long as she could But she got tired of running And the dark clouds caught up And as she grew older The sunshine in her smile faded She cut her hair shorter and shorter Her hips turned red And her closest friends Were the villains in her head And the silver hidden under her bed”
— I don’t know what to do anymore (via empty-and-confused)
This applies to me on a personal level
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“i know i promised both of us i’d stop writing poems about you but it’s one of the only healthy habits i have left. that isn’t to say it’s healthy, it’s that it’s all there is left. it’s to say i don’t know what else to do with all this feeling. you were just one bad habit in a summer of too many and i was just another girl to cross off your list. we were the best and worst things to ever happen to each other and you’d think that would cancel out but i still see you twice in my memory: once as the lion and then as the lamb. i never wanted the high but now i’m cursing the bender. i never wanted your arm around me but i still miss it some days. it’s funny how the absence of something always means more than its presence ever did. i keep wondering stupid things like how old your sister is now and if you still go to new york every summer and who you drunk text now and if you wonder this kind of stupid thing about me. the problem is that i left sad and you left angry, i don’t think much of anything has changed.”
— nostalgic for disaster - sarah kate o. (via allthesinkingships)
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Do me a favor okay? Stop trying to go back to who you were before. Before you were raped, before you got sick before an eating disorder took over your life. stop trying to be who you were five, ten, twenty years ago. Before the mental illness took over, before he died, back before your parents split or you lost your best friend.
You are NOT the same person as before. You never will be again. Give up the idolization of “before” and be who you are now. Be the you AFTER.
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