#except from a book i'll never write

[leavemeslowly]

[lanyteenagewhore]

the body

[ninasdrafts]

This is what I remember: losing myself. You have to know one thing about me: I'm an observer. I notice things. So it didn't take me long to notice what you liked about me. Not long to understand that the traits and the things and the tidbits that made your heart beat faster had little to do with me and a lot with the idea you had of me in your head. The blond girl, the throws back her head shaking with laughter kind of girl, the girl who sits at home and waits for you to come back late at night, the girl who unlearns to enjoy herself when you're not around. I became her. I was her, for you, for as long I could. This is how it started: I donned a mask every time you came over. My features never slipped, a sweet smile permanently glued to my face, every line filled to the brim with adoration. You looked at me and I saw bright lights and I thought it was how it had to be. I thought this was how it was supposed to feel. A tightness in my chest, in my lungs. Feeling too small for my body, for you, for this world. It didn't matter that I tried to decode entire conversations when you left. That I thought everything I said and did was wrong, that I blamed me for your outbursts, for your deciding to drive home in the middle of the night, for your pretending I did not exist for weeks on end. And I felt like it. I felt like I did not exist. This is what I have to remind myself of: I rediscovered myself. I stuck my hands into piles of ash, debris and broken bone, and I dug so deep, I nearly got stuck on the way back up. I found her, I think. I found who she was before you, buried who she was with you, and treasure who she will become after you. Because there will be an after you, and it will be glorious. And you know me: I'm an observer. I notice things. And I remember them. And no matter how many times I encounter a part of me that misses you, the memory of losing myself will always be clearer, more fleshed out than the muscle memory of my fingers tracing the palm of your hand.

- this is what I remember: losing myself / n.j.

[roses-have-thorns-blog]

Life teaches us to bear witness to others' storms, but not to let their thunder shake our own foundations. Emotional intelligence is the gentle art of holding space for another's pain, without surrendering to its darkness. It's the wisdom to empathise without absorbing, to compassionately bear the weight of others' struggles, while safeguarding our own heart's equilibrium.

[addictings]

Sometimes, in the early hours of morning, I wake in a panic, thinking you’re still here. I look left and settle, even though the air still tastes of your presence; like rain wrung from bone.

The birds in the field behind the house praise the sun rising on the horizon. They sing as if nothing is missing. As if the world hasn’t cracked in half and swallowed you whole. They return every spring, just as you once did. But at last, you left and never returned.

The sun is merciless though. It persists in rising, but never erases your residue from the sheets.

I wait for the grief to pass. It never does.

You live in the margins.

In doorways.

In dreams that forget themselves.

In every breath that can be caught, but never held.

The echo of your silence is seared into my brain.

You haunt me like a shadow without a body to cast it; only the memory of warmth and the ache of what’s gone.

You are poison in my heart, a ghost endlessly lingering.

It doesn’t matter how desperately I try to let you go, I have become you.

— avoidant tendencies 5:34 AM

[sihaya05]

My favourite word is Winter.

It’s my fault. It’s just that when we met it was Winter, and her pale blue eyes were almost grey against the backdrop of the winter sky. Beautiful, but coldly so. I haven’t looked at Blue the same ever since. She was warm, all beams and giggles.

And then Summer came, and a mask of sadness clouded her face. She was so beautiful even then, with her coffee-brown skin and dull braids. But she didn’t always feel beautiful in Summer.

In Autumn, that thin veil of sadness lifted a bit, but she was still unconsolable. Only the rainy days could provide her with the solace she sought. On rainy days, she always felt beautiful. And she was always so bright and happy. I miss those days. The dry, scorching heat of the sun in this endless summer always makes her miserable. And when she’s miserable, I am also miserable.

When Spring comes, she has already wilted away in the Summer, so she doesn’t bloom. But she persists, still. My beautiful flower. In spring, she also cries a lot. The kind of crying that twists my gut when she laughs, because it reminds me of how much she cries. Then she starts to smile at me on those rare, few occasions. And something inside me unloosens.

A reprieve.

She’s still here. She still loves me. And most importantly, I still love her.

You can’t save people, but your love can be the means through which they save themselves.

//A love in Four Seasons//

[jenwritespoems]

"My life has been everything and anything but my own. That's the way that it has always been and I don't get a choice in this - it's my life but I don't get to live it."

[21silverlinings]

Avoidantly, I refrain From opening my mouth Fearing that you will hear My mother's heartache Etched into my words.

Anxiously, I hold my tongue Repressing my father's anger That of which poisons my blood.

Disorderly, My silence grows A bed of unspoken thoughts, Rooted in past sorrows, Watered by the tears of every generation before me.

Yet, in time, I learn to whisper To find my voice And declare that I am more Than the fears I have inherited. I abandon the screams Of my ancestors' pain, To break the cycle So that one day, My words will flow Not with heartache or anger, But with love and peace, instead.

nb | 1902

[the-captaincoffee]

Crazy

I mean it’s kinda crazy, that one day… one small insignificant day could be the beginning of the rest of my life. And I’m sitting here, missing you… wondering if you’re there, missing me too… and then I get a message… a small insignificant message…

[briarmay]

amsterdam

I'd rather you didn't tell me You loved me On the day you decided to leave

~ briar may

[itsbluetoulouse]

i hope you fall in love with being alive

i hope you fall in love with being alive they said, but everyday my footsteps get a little bit harder to drag just for a walk

i hope you fall in love with being alive they said, but most night i feel like it's getting darker and darker and my eyes are wide open but it's unclear

i hope you fall in love with being alive they said, but my heart hurts every time i think about tomorrow, the possibilities, the what ifs, the uncertainty

i hope you fall in love with being alive they said, but people around me don't know how to say i love you and that's a pity i will always have

i hope you fall in love with being alive they said, but i think it will happen someday, eventually, when the skies are no longer dark, and the rain doesn't make my heart ache anymore or when the sleep getting more hours and hours and my heart beats steadily. i really hope you fall in love with being alive.

[leavemeslowly]

I want to love and forget you at the same time, you are the only thing stitching me together and tearing me apart, there is nothing between the two. Maybe it is not you, maybe it is only me, as I was before I met you. I can’t decide. Having a choice seems like an illusion.

[lanyteenagewhore]

CONTROL YOURSELF

[ninasdrafts]

I couldn’t fool you if I tried, not by a long shot. You spot my lies from miles away, hidden in the lilt of my voice and the set of my mouth. I don’t have to say a word. It’s the little things. You know what to say to get me out of bed in the morning, curtains half-closed, sunlight peeking into the room. Your hand reaches for mine when we enter a room full of people because you know I tend to get overwhelmed. You are quiet at night, in the space between trying to stay awake and falling asleep, and when my eyelids grow heavy your fingers trace mine to let me know I’m not alone. You ask me what’s wrong only once, and when I tell you I’m fine, you don’t dig deeper, even though you know I’m not. You know I’ll cave in and tell you when I’m ready. You eye my ink-stained fingers, but don’t comment on them, a secret smile ghosting over your lips. You leave the lights on for me, turn the music up for me, lower your voice for me. We speak in code, using made up words, paint each other’s worlds in colours others are blind to.   You don’t have to tell me you love me. It’s visible in everything you do or don’t do. I hear it in everything you say or don’t say. It’s in the spaces between. Concealed beneath fits of laughter, lines of our favourite songs, hidden in words I wrote. You see me. You know me, better than anyone ever has. To be known like this... I don’t know how it could get any better.

to be loved is to be known / n.j.

[roses-have-thorns-blog]

Changing yourself is a tough and often lonely journey. But it's also a powerful one. As you work on yourself, you start to realise that your worth isn't defined by external things - it's something that comes from within. You begin to let go of the things that disrupt your inner peace and focus on building meaningful relationships and keeping promises to yourself and others. It's a journey of self-discovery and growth, and it's one that can bring a sense of calm and clarity to your life 🌹

[missred18]

"You're a very quiet woman," he stated. Leaning forward with interest, "From what I've been told, you have an iron grip on your life." A quick laugh escaped her, "Would you believe me if I confessed I've never," her head shook as she stressed, "Not even once, felt that way?" Withholding a frown, she clarified, "My whole life I've felt adrift and without a semblance of control." "Really?" His shock was comically apparent. Her head tilted down and she surveyed him through her lashes, "Makes my decisions seem less paramount," A slight head tilt to level her gaze, "Doesn't it? He offered a bitter grin. She replied with a feral smile.

Excerpt from a story I'll never write.

emma rae hover