#contemplating things

[zerocksout]

Staring at Titan so hard

......Boy you are gonna be the death of me I swear to God. I'm gonna fix your faceplate up baby boy.

My poor, stoic, crazy baby boy.

[letteriwillneversend]

sometime i wonder what it will be like when you meet God. will He be kind? authoritative? intimidating? larger than life? will He be like that fable of the spirit with a thousand faces - each as unpredictable and firmly etched as the next?

i imagine what it might be like if i were to get to meet Him. 

in my mind, i meet God in the field at the end of Everything. my body feels light and heavy all at once. 

i don’t know how that’s possible, but of course, it is.

when i meet Him, i’m not sure what to say. is there a proper greeting you’re supposed to say when you talk to the Creator of Everything? somehow, a simple hello or hey feels improper.

He knows how little i understand, and so He speaks first. His voice is definitely of someone All-Knowing and All Powerful. this deity has seen my every mistake and every failing and every lie and every cheat and every shortcut and every insult. he’s seen me in my infancy when i was nothing and in my younger years with sticky fingers and in my teen years with a sharp tongue. only He knows how hard my heart is, because He is the one created it. He alone can see through the flesh and blood and tissue and bone and straight into my heart and see what i truly am - just. human.

He asks me what my purpose was. the question catches me off guard - i figured if anything, isn’t God supposed to know the answer to that one? but He waits patiently, like He has all the time in the universe. of course, He does.

my answer is a guess at best - it feels like i have no right to be confident in what i say here. after all, who am i to know?

He asks if i know who He is. i nod, and He acknowledges it. He asks more questions - not inquisitive or interrogative or curious, but there’s a rhythm to the questions that’s thoughtful.

what i believed. who i believed. what i did. who i was. these questions are to be expected, but i still answer them with less confidence than i had hoped to have had. i feel ill-prepared and embarrassingly awkward.

His next question is unexpected, and there is a full beat before my mind begins to process it.

“Were you kind?”

“What?”

“Were you kind? Did you treat my Creation with gentility? Were you merciful to those weaker than you, and patient with those stronger?

Were you kind?”

something about the question makes my lip start to tremble and my vision start to blur. i try to will it to stop, to steady my voice, but it escapes me. in the back of my mind i think that i must look quite tiny like this, like a pudgy toddler gripping at your pant leg, small and earnest and vulnerable and perhaps, weak.

“I don’t know. But I know that I tried. 

And I really did try.”

my voice wobbles more than i want it to. and just when i think i have it controlled, that the vulnerability has passed and the face i’ve worn all my life is back in place, the strangest thing happens.

a feeling of understanding fills me up and surrounds me all at once. God does not have a face, because he is not you or i, so naturally He has no facial expression. but something about the feeling filling me up like water on a sinking boat tells me that He understands.

He knows.

i had learned at a very young age that God is always watching - that He would know if i cheated on a test or tripped my friend in the schoolyard or gave my brother the infinitesimally smaller half of the chocolate bar. God sees everything. He Knows.

but it takes this moment for it to click into understanding for me. God sees everything. He knows. the knowledge of that hits me like a weight into my chest and knocks the air out of my lungs. it’s unnerving and unfamiliar and all encompassing. He knows all of it - He saw every time i picked my nose and everytime i told a white lie and everytime i prayed without thinking and everytime i was too lazy to study and everytime i disappointed someone in my life and everytime i knew better still chose wrong. He saw everytime i lied and everytime i swore and everytime i shot someone a dirty look when i thought they wouldn’t notice or everytime i broke a promise and everytime i let someone down. He knew everytime i thought something horrible or looked at something i shouldn’t have or everytime i eavesdropped or everytime i forgot to ask the cashier how their day went because i was in a rush. this is a terrifying realization.

yet somehow, the next realization is what scares me more. He saw everytime i blinked back tears and everytime i begrudgingly swallowed poison in my words and everytime i put on strength like an armor and everytime i wanted to yell until i couldn’t anymore. He saw every time i was too tired to cry and everytime i chose to be warm simply because i could and everytime i made someone laugh and every time i let someone borrow my pen even though it’s my favorite and everytime i sat with someone eating alone and everytime i complimented a stranger just to make them smile and even everytime i gave my brother the infinitesimally larger half of a chocolate bar.

something passes, and something stills. a new feeling washes over me - something so unfamiliar, but so welcome. i cannot tell you how it feels without it being a disservice, but i will try anyway.

it feels like… something. it feels like returning home from war and having your weariness lifted away. it feels like trying your favorite childhood treat and having it taste exactly as you remembered it. it feels like waking up on your birthday and having it feel special. it feels like returning home after a long day to a warm, home-cooked meal and eating it with someone you love. it feels like being hugged so you’re never the first to let go. it feels like sitting down after you’ve been standing for so long; like being exhausted and then settling into a made bed where the sheets are soft and the comforter is crisp and the pillows are cool and the mattress pulls you in and dissolves your restlessness. it feels like finding you have exactly the right amount of money in your bank account. it feels like the warmth of your favorite mug after you’ve just enjoyed a hot drink in it.

it feels like how i imagine it feels to return home after the longest day ever and put your head in the lap of a loving mother, who doesn’t need to ask anything as she softly brushes her fingers through your hair over and over and over again.

in my mind, God understands. He knows.

[team-sleepless]

People stop loving your shell, not your soul.. Your soul is love..A soul will always love a soul..fix your fucking shell bruh...

[narrators-journal]

Hmmmmmmmm...How would ya'll feel if I maybe went a bit closer to reality with my dark smut? Not, like, entirely? It'll still be based in fandoms lol, but a bit more of a realistic scenario. Would that be too uncomfortably close to real life?

[harleythealter]

Guess who forgot to send out the Valentine’s Day cards because somebody died :p

It’s me. I forgot and now they’re going to be late.

Just deciding if I drive them to the people myself or not.

[zhakyria]

Some thoughts I’ve been having. Don’t mind me.

Me in middle school: Wish I was a boy.

Me in high school wearing baggy clothes to hide my body: I’m just a tomboy. Totally just a tomboy.

Me in college: I’m just gonna have to accept being a woman. Not like I can do anything about it.

Me in collage the second time: Who cares what other people think. I’m who I am and apparently non-binary is a thing.

Me now: Well fuck me….maybe middle school me was onto something.

[egophiliac]

I have SO many thoughts about everything and they are in no kind of order yet, so here's just some quick little bits in the meantime!

I am not normal about any of these characters!

[notbeckysauerbrunn4]

You should be here

Standing with your arm around me here

Cuttin' up crackin' a cold beer

Sayin' cheers

——

For Luis and Brandon.

[mythtakens]

Eddie + looking away from Buck

[doobledabbadoo]

noah doodles bc hes fun to draw 💔💔💔 hope he gets hit by a meteorite /pos

[elucubrare]

there's a fantasy about "perfect communication" where the other person can completely read your thoughts, and the good part of this is that there can be no misunderstanding because they know all of you and your true self. but

i don't think that those unfiltered thoughts are my "true self," to the extent that that's a real or helpful concept. my true self is the one i create - the one i want to show people, not the one that exists unedited. my true social self isn't the first, nasty, ungenerous thought that pops into my mind: it's the one that has looked at that impulse and decided, for the sake of people near me, not to voice it, or to voice it more kindly. that self isn't less true because there has been some effort involved in its creation.

[houseswife]

appreciation for the sheer melancholic fondness in wilson’s gaze at house during what he knows is the last normal interaction they’ll ever have; during the final comparatively trivial rant in which they don’t both have to pretend the world isn’t collapsing beneath their feet

[blabberoo]

daily dose of driftcells..

[corsairspade]

I was going to say we need to be weirder about Maglor but then I remembered crablor. That’s on me. We need to also be DIFFERENT weird about Maglor.

Maglor who walks along the coast for thousands of years and does not stop singing. Maglor who after ages of the world have passed, has a voice that is made only for music. When he speaks, there is something too lyrical to the tone. He sighs and the world accompanies him. His raised voice sets the ground shaking, his laments call water like tears from the sky. He has to be careful when he speaks to people, however rare that is, because of it. He weeps and those who can hear him cannot help but weep as well. Maglor with a voice so powerful that he can no longer use it the way he could when the world was young. One more thing lost to the Oath.

[fluentisonus]

[bugflies00]

oh ok. ok . thats fine