plaguewind

[plaguewind]

I don’t want to be fixed. I want to be familiar.

If I am the void, I want someone to dangle their legs over the edge. Idly. Casually.

Like it’s the spot they go when they need to breathe.

Like the screaming sounds like home to them too. Like they’ve always known the dark.

I want someone to fidget with the jagged edges. Like a familiar burr under the arm of their favourite chair.

[plaguewind]

[plaguewind]

[plaguewind]

Woke up before the alarm again. Dreamt of all the people I left behind. The ones who burned me, but at least made me feel warm.

Sometimes I think I should’ve let it slide. Looked away. Pretended they weren’t cruel. Maybe then I wouldn’t feel like this—cold and principled. Alone.

I miss their shadows more than I miss who they were.

Cigarette dreams: toxic, quick, comforting.

I won’t betray myself just to feel the warmth. I hope.

But some nights, I’d still turn to stone if it meant Medusa would even look at me.

[plaguewind]

[plaguewind]

Every time I miss someone, I end up resenting them for it.

[plaguewind]

John Batho

[plaguewind]

I need you to feel like you'd die without me

[plaguewind]

[plaguewind]

[plaguewind]

Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky, from a letter featured in The Life & Letters of Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky

[plaguewind]

Because god so profoundly does not exist

[plaguewind]

@hungerystarving

[plaguewind]

Nostalgia is a weapon I keep using on myself.

[plaguewind]

The Amity Affliction - "Coffin"

[plaguewind]

The right person won’t "fix" me. They’ll recognize me, and still want to crawl closer—even if it means bleeding a little.

[plaguewind]

“I know it’s impossible to explain this to you. I carry this terrible aching hell in my heart.”

— Charles Bukowski, from a letter to Louise Webb featured in Screams From The Balcony: Selected Letters 1960 - 1970 (via mirroir)