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Jack Pierson, as if he belonged. No one, 1991

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mazzy in her bedroom 2022

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i often thought about my past

and not nearly enough about my future.

growing up i had an innate idea of what i always wanted, more so what i wanted to be - a devoted wife, a loving mother, a perfect and successful daughter to the lineage that fought so desperately hard at every turn to get me here, to this very moment.

i often thought about my friends and the futures they would have, and whether i would remain solidified in them. would i be physically present to the world that would unfurl before them, or would i just be present in spirit? an ever-fading memory in their minds until one day they would blink at thirty with a new life, a new family, far removed from our quiet little city we all used to traverse across so effortlessly at one point, and they would totally forget me.

in some ways i already know its inevitably bound to happen because it has before. and i try to remind myself in the comforts of me surviving those times, of becoming a lost memory to people despite being so very alive, but the older i get and the more crass the world becomes, the harder i find myself gripping onto those i have closest to me.

often times i think i scare my loved ones with how much i love them and so i pull away. sometimes i feel like there is something innately inhuman about the way i love others and in some ways that tempts people farther away from me. it feels utterly desperate but pure. maybe i love too hard, too sensually, too brazenly for the rest of those around me to fully understand or digest, let alone truly want. overall i tend to find myself utterly alone in that sensual ideal of love i persistently chased my entire life.

to be understood, to understand. i don't know at what age it fully really occurs or if it ever really does. despite my constant experience in this realm of life too i have absolutely nothing new to contribute. i feel like every love has ever been loved; and the only love i could ever want is farther than it ever has been. there is no cease and desist on feelings, there is no more subtle afternoon naps when you reach your mind twenties to help you "reset" or forget about a lost love.

it is just you, with you, persistently. and if you're not careful enough you will persistently think, you will persistently long and strive for people, places and things way out of your control. i guess in a way i can only speak for myself. but i assume that if i can feel lonely to the depths of my bones, to cry into midnights in my bed, to cease and abstain from any from of sexual gratification with others or myself out of shame and fear, then i do not care how proper a mask others wear.

i know they feel lonely too.

and in some ways, that makes the nights easier to survive. even if we are all alone, drifting further away from each other, together.

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book pressings i did back in spring🌸🌸 i miss spring😭 i can’t handle 30 degree weather fml / ig: @94mlk

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(via staree)

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@_ha.chi

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@lawskaania

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@joalove__

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people we meet on vacation by emily henry 💓

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Kathy Acker, Empire of the Senseless 

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Amy Winehouse 2004, playing pool in Kentish Town

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Lana Del Rey leaving a gas station in Los Angeles, California on July 13, 2012

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— Franz Kafka, Diaries, 1910-1923

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La Pace, by Antonio Canova. Museo archeologico nazionale di Napoli. | see full photoset / by @red-fox-from-fairytale