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part of the reason I think it’s so sad that we collectively write so few stories about unrequited love is bc I feel like there’s very little public acknowledgment of how much it sucks to be the one somebody is in unrequited love with??? and not in a way of like, oh they’re crossing boundaries or putting expectations on me or whatever. becoming close friends with someone and then finding out they’re in love with you and you don’t love them back the same way is heartbreaking, bc a) someone you love is in pain and there is literally nothing you can do about it, and b) it usually means that whether you like it or not there’s going to be distance in your friendship that wasn’t there before as they try to get over you. idk man I just feel like we’ve all discussed the tragedy of loving someone who doesn’t love you back quite a lot and very rarely discuss the tragedy of finding out the way that you love someone just isn’t enough.

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asking myself “is this really who i want to be forever?” a lot lately

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the last dinner party via instagram

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not to get too deep on main but did anyone else have such deeply rooted issues with their self worth for so long that they thought as a kid/teen that their only redeeming feature was being “low maintenance” and now as an adult you give yourself guilt pangs asking for any more than the barest minimum in virtually any relationship because asking for things might negate your only good quality which is just “doesn’t ask for things”

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People underestimate how much it fucks you up to be subtly excluded as a kid. I would try to talk to my classmates and be met with disinterest or annoyance. The one friend I had, who I clung to and nodded along to his every word, had other friends he liked just as much or more. And his other friends didn’t care for me at all.

I look back at pictures from the time and see how separated I was from them. I remember knowing I was different. I remember posing questions about the world to the girls playing next to me and realizing that they had never asked the same ones to themselves. That the ways we thought couldn’t be more different.

I kept myself amused with my own fanatical stories and musings in my head. I would wander the playground on a circular path, imagining a friend and being sorely disappointed when it didn’t feel as real as I’d hoped.

There was a bubble separating me from everyone else, thin, and nearly invisible, but with a pearly sheen you could catch under the right conditions. I knew it was there, they knew it was there, and it changed me

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made some posters - this ones my favorite

all of them

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“The only lover she had ever wanted was the one who existed in her dreams, the novels she read, and her imagination.”

— Hermann Sudermann, The Song of Songs (1908)

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by the time I remember to text back it's too disrespectful to even do it

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People look so different once you don’t care about them anymore

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oh.....