royejulian - Tumblr blog

[royejulian]

Lately, I've been absent from these pages. Life, well, it's been a wild ride, to say the least. Moments of brilliance mingled with the mundane and the downright messy.

Since I first ventured into this digital space, so much has unfolded. I poured myself into my work, and the universe responded with not one, but two promotions within a mere six months. Yet amidst the professional triumphs, my personal life was a tumultuous sea. Three men passed through, each attempting to mend the broken pieces they saw in me. But my heart, stubborn as ever, refused to yield to their well-intentioned efforts.

Instead, I found solace in the quiet act of journaling. Sometimes, I wonder if these intimate reflections should have found their way here, into this shared space. And then there's the smoking. A habit rediscovered, a crutch in the chaos, offering a fleeting sense of relief amidst the storm.

There are moments when I question my place in this world, when I doubt my ability to navigate its twists and turns. But in those moments, a voice from the past whispers words of reassurance. A childhood friend, a rare confidant, confessed to following along with these scattered thoughts of mine. "At least you're trying to stay alive," he said.

At first, it seemed like a mere consolation. But upon reflection, I realized the weight of his words. Trying, in its simplest form, is an act of resilience, a testament to one's inner strength. Perhaps I'm stronger than I give myself credit for. Time will tell.

But for now, as I watch the smoke curling lazily into the air, I'll allow myself one more cigarette. A small act of defiance, a moment of quiet rebellion in a world that often feels too overwhelming.

[royejulian]

Thoughts of a Restless Mind #09: He carried too much in his heart, too much weight, too much to bear. He didn’t have space for the love I could give.

[royejulian]

Thoughts of a Restless Mind #08: He never really wanted to go on a date, but he dared to push himself out of his lonely apartment and be on a date with me. All night, we talked about our pasts, seemingly stuck on a loop and drowning in nostalgia. He suffered from longingness, stuck in his past, captured by what-ifs.

[royejulian]

Thoughts of a Restless Mind #07: I like to understand sadness because sometimes I believe it's the only thing I can comprehend.

[royejulian]

Are you falling for someone or in a relationship? I mean where do you get all this inspiration from? Who is your muse? What is your muse?

None as of the moment. I'm making all of this shit up. I try to look at inspiration anywhere I look, and I try to feel things. Then, I write them down.

[royejulian]

Thoughts of a Restless Mind # 06: They told me that you are a creation of the same grief I hold in my mouth.

[royejulian]

Thoughts of a Restless Mind # 05: Nothing but a way of words flying through my head.

[royejulian]

I wish I could love in increments, give it in portions while saving something for myself. A measurable quantity—enough to be seemingly unselfish by such act of selfishness—but deemed immeasurable by its ponderosity, its purpose. Instead, I love in extremes, much to my detriment. For what is love but the risks you take, even all the while sacrificing your happiness.

[royejulian]

Thoughts of a Restless Mind #04: I desire to be like regret—wild, wanting, and wicked. Maybe even more.

[royejulian]

Thoughts of a Restless Mind # 03: I am always running, forever homesick for a place that doesn't exist.

[royejulian]

I.

We talked about our past lovers who shaped our fears and inhibitions on our first date. I told you about my first boyfriend, the one who got me into cigarettes, filling my lungs with thick smoke in the hope of dampening the anxiety inside me. The smoke didn't do anything, only signaled to others that I depended on nicotine to fight my demons, more so cutting my life in minutes with each drag.

You smiled from across the table, leaning on your forearms that accentuated the hard, taut muscle that hid under your folded long sleeves. Your following words explained that you didn't have scars from your exes. I refused to believe that you didn't because your eyes lit up like warning signs with every compliment I threw your way. You have scars no matter how much you denied them, but you refuse to let them define you.

II.

The morning after our first night together, I aimlessly ran my fingers over your back, let them dance along the freckled tan skin. I spelled out in braille the date I anticipated you would leave as if I willingly shaped the lifeline of our relationship over the curve of your spine. I traced each dip and groove on your back, recreating a topography I wanted to explore with my tongue. You woke up a few moments later and asked me what was wrong. Your body shook with my dismissiveness, a dead giveaway of your fears. Instead, I replied by tapping out in morse code the date I had written in the bumps of your spine, telling you that I thought you didn't have fears, didn't have scars.

[royejulian]

i've been following you since you started. around 2011 i think? your posts started from something earnest and usually the yearning kind. they all slowly turned into something unexplainable but also something really sad. your growth as a writer amazes me. keep it up brave soul.

When alcohol and cigarettes no longer work, I write to tame the madness—monsters in shape of wolves—inside my head. Thank you, kind stranger.

[royejulian]

want to fuck?

Be careful who you're asking. I get emotionally attached way too easily.

[royejulian]

Thoughts of a Restless Mind #02: Excerpts from a book I'll never write.

[royejulian]

Thoughts of a Restless Mind #01: You stood in front of the bathroom mirror while I watched you cut your hair—a buzzcut—even though I said I wish you wouldn’t. As chunks of your hair fell on your shoulders and eventually to the floor, you talked about how it felt trimming memories of your old life and the things you felt like forgetting. I hummed to recognize an understanding, but as you stepped in the shower, I swept up those lost pieces of you into my pocket—afraid that I would find myself among them.

I laid on the bed with your hair in my pocket, feeling both stupid and irrational. When you walked in, with a towel wrapped on your waist, you looked at me with shorter hair and dimmer eyes. At that moment, I knew I was right.

[royejulian]

is it okay to talk to my ex?

I guess that's fine, if you're in speaking terms. Unless you're my ex, then leave me the fuck alone.

[royejulian]

what do you say after sex?

The occasional thank you, but if I'm being honest, I'm usually the emotional and needy type who says stay.