#thoughtdaughter

[111-angels]

Stevie nicks ༄

[livingdeadgirl-333]

[holdmepainlessly]

"Brown eyes aren't just brown eyes when you fall in love with someone who has those eyes."

[tangerinedreaming]

No kisses. No embraces. No warm tangles on cold nights. No sudden burns sweeping across skin and awakening unknown, untethered, unbecoming things.

Gentle conversation slurring into quiet laughter, filtering through moonlit nights like water through fingertips. Tentative hands brushing in the darkness, twisting slowly into lips slipping across soft skin. Words and minds and finally bodies laying bare in the night as the last restraints are softly unshackled.

A blurring flood of memories like watercolour; all the edges softened and the colours darkened.

To take that face and inject it into blood, to burn every word and breath and touch into skin even if everyone could see it. To take shame and turn it into something transcendant.

Just a day, just an hour, just a heartbeat longer.

Excuses for moments like these. Forbidden ones filled with heavy misting breaths and tangled skin.

Guilt that cuts deep and pulls like waves on consciences, never quite drawing back into the sea. Minds drifting helplessly away into that hidden span of time. Kept buried deep and dark, making sure it doesn't stay too long.

-

[rageinreverie]

before the wedding, they give advice

talk about everything

never go to bed angry

marriage is hard work

like folded notes pressed into your palm,

whispered warnings wrapped in bows.

you nod, you smile,

you think you understand.

but understanding comes later.

in the quiet hum of morning breath,

in the way their fingers trace the edge of your worry

without needing to ask.

it comes in the nights when marriage feels like work,

when the weight of the world

settles heavy on the bed between you.

when silence feels safer than speaking.

they don’t tell you that intimacy

isn’t just bodies tangled in sheets,

it’s the unlocked door of your mind,

the secret thoughts you never meant to say aloud,

laid bare in the dim glow of trust.

they don’t tell you that some days,

love is muscle memory,

a thing you do because you promised to,

because even in the dark,

you reach for them,

and they reach back.

and in that reaching,

you remember,

this is what lucky feels like

-rage in reverie

[weekendwhipped]

[sarentries]

Full read on my Substack: The Girl In The Rain

[snsorx]

i find the most comfort in my sorrows, when i feel the most hollow

[111-angels]

༄

[livingdeadgirl-333]

I simply can not ༊*·˚

[she1speaks]

me & bro at the motel vending machine waiting for a gatorade and snickers

[tangerinedreaming]

Why did I think it would fix the way I felt about myself?

The whole time, I thought I wanted you.

I wanted to feel your embrace again, your skin against mine, the warm weight of you pressing on my body, the ambiguity of words in silence, the unspoken weave of our bodies without glances at faces. I missed the way I could melt into you and you’d wait patiently with a conscious trace of fingertips over exposed skin. I wanted to feel wanted again.

I didn’t know how it would feel. Heated, maybe? Wanting, certainly. I needed some desire to fuel me, and some evidence to deny my delusion.

You provided that.

Comfort.

Experience.

Excitement.

You weren’t gentle or restrained. You explicated and enacted what you wanted, and I was glad I didn’t have to define what exactly I wanted. I still don’t know what that was. You held me with a wild fervour, one completely illogical, strange and dangerous for me.

I wanted affection, attention, without vague intention.

If I had acted differently after the fact, would it still be the same outcome? Would you still have said I was naïve and innocent, imply I was corruptible and acquiescent to your corruption, write your attraction to me off as respect for my motivation and achievement? Were you just upset by my standoffishness? Did you truly assume I’d get attached to you? Had you mistaken my inexperience for an absolute emotional reliance on others? Has your experience led you to believe you're the sort I, too, would irrevocably and irreparably fall for?

The questions that plagued me, the what-ifs that trademark me as a person, have slowly faded into vague wonderings. They're speculations rather than missing keys of paramount evidence, and I find myself growing less and less worried.

I've settled myself in what happened. I've accepted the inevitability of that choice, and there's nothing I can do about the regret, so I think I'm finally ready to let you go.

While I doubt you'd like that - me letting you go - you are mistaken. My perhaps naivety does not equate to natural unhealthy attachment, and I fear I might be the one to break your cycle.

You mistook my shyness for affection, and my affection for desire. I can't mistake you, because I listened when you talked about yourself, and I understood you. I even like to think I know you.

We can go back to being friends, but I hope you'll never know I can't stop remembering the softness of your hair in the cradle of my neck, and I can't look at you without knowing what you've seen of me without ever knowing what you saw in me. I don't think I'll be able to look at you again.

We're different people to each other now. I wish I could tell you how much it meant to me, how deeply I regret it, how much rage you caused me, how many tears I shed, how many smiles I hid, how many times I've placed my hands where you have been and allow myself to be haunted by your touch.

This can't possibly be the pleasure others tell me about. What have you reaped from me? Was it worth what you took, or was taking from me your reward?

Maybe you are right. Maybe I am ignorant, and naive, and innocent, and I assume the best in others, and trusted too deeply the goodness of man and the ability to resist temptation. Maybe I overestimated you, if you weren't beyond tightening your lips enough to save me any dignity. Maybe I overcompensated in platonic action, and you never understood what it was I actually felt for you and I never knew it fully either, and we both were two sides of the same coin.

There's no point in wondering what could have been. This is what it is, and we've lost what we had and there's no way of discerning what is ahead. I know you're already slackened grip, but I don't know if I can. I hate you deeply, and my wrist has loosened, but my fingers still cling tight despite the lifting pressure. You prematurely exposed visceral, untouched parts of me, and I don't think I can forgive you for that. I didn't have the strength to stop you, or the self-control to pull away, so I don't think I can complain.

It's really not your fault. You're just a man, it's just what you do. You really didn't do anything wrong, I don't think, but I can't draw the lines between my feelings and instinct in the moment and the me that sobbed violently an hour later and the me the next morning in a state of confused euphoria or that afternoon in a silent depression or a week later claiming I was over it and you and me now, still thinking feverishly of your touch and sickened by my reaction to your attention.

Truly, what have you done to me? What did you awaken? Not some wild beast of strange desires, but you rather unlocked some craving for affection I never had, insecurities that are completely unwarranted, debased thoughts that I don't even consider truths.

Whatever. I'm sorry. You're right.

I am an overthinker. I am hostile to men because of my awkwardness, and my insecurity manifests as an off-putting, standoffish exterior. I am naive, and we are better friends than this.

I'll concede to you again.

[rageinreverie]

i see her.

i see the way she grips the edges of herself,

trying not to slip away.

i tell her,

she is not small,

not crazy,

not his to destroy.

she is a storm waiting to break.

-rage in reverie

[weekendwhipped]

[sarentries]

Full blog on Substack: The Girl In The Rain

[lexixxl]

This movie changed my perspective in romance. >>>>>

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