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i love when you just click the share link on a picture on your phone and you get a bunch of batshit insane options. yeah let me email this selfie to the periodontist office. let me send this to my boss on teams. perfect suggestions.

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Somehow I feel better now that the Very Intense Feeling of Hyperfixation™ is back being reserved for a Dead Man and Dead Man only

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brooding men who cannot communicate their feelings if their life depended on it are only hot when they're fictional. if i have to deal with one in real life i will curse him and pray for his downfall every night before i go to bed

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To my love, my sun, my laughter,

My glimpse of light in dreary days,

The comforting touch on my hand in times of grief,

My reminder to walk steadfastly, to see a future ahead.

--

After the fights I had with my mom lately, I often find myself wondering whether I have made a mistake.

If maybe I should have called it off after our first date, let you find another one of your matches in peace, saving you from these two years that, after all, ended in pain once again,

But I, selfishly, knew that I wouldn't trade those two years for anything.

--

I never knew two years could teach me so many things;

not only about you, not only about us, but also about myself.

I learned to love myself better,

I learned that I, despite what I have told myself for so many years, deserve love,

I got to know parts of myself that I never knew existed before.

And I'm glad I got to know you too, with all your little habits,

The way you slow yourself down when you walk with me, the way you hold my hand,

The way you send me tweets and screenshots of things that you think I will like (and I liked them every single time),

The good morning gifs you send me, the good night gifs you send me,

Even the way you snore, the way you clear your throat and your nose, and how you would ask me to help you scrub your back in the shower.

--

I gave you the promise ring because I wouldn't want it with anyone else.

When you accompanied me all the way to Depok because I was crying over my granddad and my dad, I knew it had to be you.

I want a lifetime with you. Isn't that big for someone who couldn't even see what a lifetime means for themselves?

Today I had to take that ring back home. Not because of you, not because of me, but because of our circumstances.

And I'm thankful that despite all of it, you would still have me in your life, because I still want you in mine.

I hope there will be a new chapter for us; to find happiness, maybe no longer in each other, and I still want to share it with you, as good friends.

Because I know I won't be able to find anyone else like you out there.

--

Please be happy. Laugh plenty, with your friends, with your family. Share with them how much you love them. Find your passion in your hobbies, sing loudly, walk freely. There is still so much in life waiting for you.

And I'm happy to share two of those precious years with you.

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I would look for love in incomplete sentences,

In between "maybe"s

and behind "we'll see later"s.

I thought love is in the uncertainties,

Surely, because life itself, by nature, is uncertain,

and not because I have to beg for every crumb on his doorstep.

Surely, not because the only form of affection I get is in ungodly hours, when he would send me sweet nothings

so I will send him two more different angles and help him finish.

.

.

Your love feels foreign,

like I'm in a land afar trying to speak their language knowing only my mother tongue my entire life.

Your love feels so close resting between my veins, gently coursing with every heartbeat,

yet so far,

A puzzle, an enigma, something I could barely understand.

.

.

When they asked me what I want to be like, I would always say the giving tree.

At its dying day, barely a stump, with all its branches, leaves, fruits and wood given away,

They are content with their role to provide one last place to rest for their loved one.

Love is hard earned, tooth and nail,

Love means giving everything,

Love bleeds,

Love hurts.

.

.

Bagus, my love, my sun, my laughter,

I've always believed that love comes around, that the amount of love you share with others, one day, will eventually return to you.

Yet it still feels... strange.

I expected love to be overwhelming. Love is painful. I would give through gritted teeth and tears in my eyes and my chest burning with questions of why? Why? I've given everything and they're happy yet why am I not? Will they have my back even after I've given my all? With all that I have done, am I still not enough?

I gave so much that I forgot myself. I forgot what I want and what I need.

And you, ever so patiently, help me to remember,

with every poems you write me about how much you love me,

with every small gestures and reminders to take care of myself,

with every kiss and every touch we share,

with every compliments you give me, in days where I love myself and days where I don't,

every pictures of me you took and every piece of memories we share that you keep,

and every plans we make for both of us in the future.

And it doesn't hurt, not even in bad days.

.

.

.

I love you, I love you,

and I would say this a thousand times more.

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Last week, I wanted to live.

It's a Tuesday evening and I was packing my bags after a nice walk after work with my work mates.

We laughed and took pictures and had snacks before calling it a day.

The leaves rustle on the trees and crunch under my pink shoes as I made my way to the train station.

I reached 10.000 steps that day before I met you.

We haven't seen each other in three weeks.

The sky was painted a glowing ember hue; calm and serene. I took so many pictures and sent you three.

"The sky is ridiculously pretty today," I said.

"Looks awesome," you replied. "Like you!"

I smiled looking at my phone screen. I love how you make me smile with comments like that every single time, without fail.

We held hands and took pictures together in the train. Time is fleeting, and we want to capture as many moments we have together as we can.

I knew I wanted to live too, two days before.

After a very long time of being afraid to go out since the pandemic started, my family and I have finally found a moment to go on vacation.

And it was at this small and quaint bakery, housed in a building older than mine and my parent's ages combined, that I caught it; a glimpse of what I may have wanted.

They were a young couple, not much older than I am now, with their daughter in tow.

She waddled around the shop with her father trailing behind as the mother talked to the shopkeeper, picking items from the display.

I held my breath because I couldn't understand what went through my mind, but now I do.

I want a future.

Sometimes I forgot.

In bad days, when my demons win and I'm terrified of you leaving.

When our future seems uncertain, and the only options I seem to have were to cling on too hard or to flee.

When small things seem to start going wrong and everything felt like they were falling apart.

When I'm starting to question whether my high school self was right, that I am not supposed to have a future past thirty.

This morning is an ordinary one.

I woke up late after staying up surprising my mom for her birthday.

You sent that one good morning gif and I smiled.

I don't know what this week has in store for me, but I want to live.

I hope I don't forget.

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describing us in short sentences

in stolen glances,

bursting out into laughter and

"oh, shut up"s,

and drawn out "no"s

followed by giggles;

in coy smiles

exchanged quietly,

staring deep into each others' eyes,

pretending it's all playful

knowing my heart flutters along;

in intertwined fingers,

"your hand is so small",

wishfully thinking that

all along,

it's meant to belong in yours;

in quiet kisses,

small pecks left as promises

that we'll see each other again,

always, just at the same time we met today;

in "i love you"s

hushed, whispered, spoken aloud,

like it carries half of my soul

to yours, knowing

you'll always keep it safe.

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how does thou live deliciously?

eat delicious things in all manner of sense: consume delicious novels, let your skin soak up warm sunlight, hold or kiss the ones you love, be amused by terrible jokes, plant basil in your kitchen window and smell it regularly and use it for cooking. be endlessly without self-imposed limitations in noticing and enjoying beauty, because there is no moral rightness to making delight a scarcity.

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what I really like about all these vintage couple’s portraits is that there is a very certain romatic decorum kept up – certain themes and poses – which, while of course being the mainstream preferred view of couples repeated throughout many studios, are just… so nice to look at. 

this staged affection, a mix of theatricality and intimacy, the couple holding still for a couple of moments and now immortalised in a very set sequence of embraces and kisses. there is a charm to it even when I can’t tell whether this was a genuine couple portait or just actors hired by the photographer.

the kiss on the bare shoulder (eyes perfectly averted), the cheek caress, the piano and the violin, the interrupted embrace, the woman tilted back as in a half-stopped dance…

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Marina Abramović, Cleaning the Mirror, 1995

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Kusama: Infinity (Heather Lenz, 2018)

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OKAY SIT DOWN SHUT UP, WE’RE GONNA TALK COLORS

THIS IS SAPPHIRE

THIS IS TEAL

THIS IS PERIWINKLE

THIS IS AZURE

 AND THIS IS TURQUOISE

WONDER WHY THOSE ALL DON’T LOOK LIKE THE SAME COLOR? BECAUSE THEY ARE NOT 

OTHER THAN BEING PART OF THE SAME FAMILY OF BLUES, THEY ARE NOT ALL THE SAME FUCKING COLOR! WHY WOULD THEY ALL BE THE SAME FUCKING COLOR! DO YOU THINK WE JUST NAME NEW COLORS FOR KICKS!?!?!?

WHEN DESCRIBING A CHARACTER’S GOD FORSAKEN EYE COLOR, PICK ONE YA GODDAMN HIPPIE

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How do you deal with grief? I just can't stop the overwhelming feeling of it.

i’m muslim so the islamic perspective comforts me a lot. the idea that the person isn’t gone forever, that my prayers are reaching them, that the love i have for them meets them where my hands can’t. i was chosen to love them. i was chosen to lose them because God knew i would still make something of their love. but muslim or not, the point remains true. the love you had and still have for them is making the world a softer place. every smile you give a stranger. every bird you feed on your morning walk. every hug you give to someone who’s still living. this is your greatest evidence. yes, someone loved me once. yes, they walked with me here once and i look for their footsteps still. yes, i dream them back all the time. yes, they made the world bearable, and i will too. ill do for others what they did for me with all the love they left behind.

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forget blorbo from my shows. look at blorbo from my house

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