iamnothingbutaconcept

[iamnothingbutaconcept]

the two seconds before I expanded the post and had only read the first few words were absolutely horrifying.

I made a rug of my cat. I think it looks a little derpy but it looks pretty close for being a rug!

[iamnothingbutaconcept]

"How do I unwrite the poems I wrote for you? Take back all the love I lost? Poets only spoke of all you do when you fall in love; no one speaks of what you do when it ends.

[iamnothingbutaconcept]

Five year plan:

idk

idk

idk

idk

and then they'll all wish they were me

[iamnothingbutaconcept]

the feminie urge to stare up at the ceiling for days, fantasizing about having a glow up.

[iamnothingbutaconcept]

"There is this terrible desire to be loved, and then this horrible yearning to be remembered. As god would have it, I can fulfil but one."

[iamnothingbutaconcept]

"And so whom do I blame for all the blood I have bled? No one has been crueler to me, than I have been to myself."

[iamnothingbutaconcept]

Memory is a punishment

“No, please. Don't ask me such foolish questions. Don’t ask me if I remember, ask me if I want to. And I don’t. Memory is an unguarded gun, and reminiscing is putting it to your head with your finger hovering above the trigger. You’re telling yourself to bring the dead back, but you can’t because they’re gone. I don’t want to remember.”

[iamnothingbutaconcept]

“But don’t people only look at you with pity in their eyes because they can see you breaking? Being offered tenderness is the very proof that you are ruined.”

[iamnothingbutaconcept]

“And so the truth about identity is that we humans are reduced to asking others who we are. We do not dare ask ourselves in fear that we may answer truthfully.”

[iamnothingbutaconcept]

“And if I must live in darkness, then let it be absolute; make me forget what light ever meant.”

[iamnothingbutaconcept]

and yet, I wonder, if no one can tell?

[iamnothingbutaconcept]

"and now I must remember you for longer than I have known you"

[iamnothingbutaconcept]

"is this what love is supposed to feel like? am i to feel suffocated by this affection climbing up my throat?""

[iamnothingbutaconcept]

— Fyodor Dostoevsky, Crime and Punishment

[iamnothingbutaconcept]

and I am scared terribly.

Vladimir Mayakovsky, from a letter featured in "Love in the Heart of Everything; The Correspondence between Vladimir Mayakovsky & Lili Brik, 1915-1930,"

[iamnothingbutaconcept]

[iamnothingbutaconcept]

"did time have to really pass? could it not have stopped for my tiny little feet? I could not keep up. I am now, lost, or worse; forgotten"