travelling-words-blog

[travelling-words-blog]

it’s sad to think how when i run my hand across my hip, and i feel my bone poking from under my skin, a small smile stretches across my lips.

or when i can feel the bumps of my ribs under my fingertips, and i feel a sense of uneasy pride.

people cry as they vow to save and protect an animal when they see the same thing. but they cheer me on, they teach me how to love myself differently. to love how i differ.

the perfect bodies, they say how i should care about myself — just as they do.

scroll to the next post.

there, just beneath the pads of my thumbs is a 30-day detox. a new diet. or a workout that will trim your waist down in a matter of days.

they say be yourself, but they condone the modification of my body so i can fit into their sizing chart.

i speak against it and i outspokenly hate it, but it’s hard to forget. it’s hard to go back to when their words didn’t bother me, or when i didn’t have to suck my stomach in to feel secure.

it’s hard to look in a mirror without at least one of those thoughts.

i’m so sorry, mum.

i can’t make it go away.

R.

[travelling-words-blog]

i woke up to rain today,

in the midst of something beautiful

but then it crept away,

rolling roars in it’s place of the azure

and that was beautiful, too.

R.

[travelling-words-blog]

- rainbow rowell, eleanor & park.

this will forever be one of my favourite stories. thank you rainbow rowell for this magnificent creation. i read this book late 2018 and since, your words have helped me come to terms with my sense of self and they inspire me every minute of everyday. i owe you an unfathomable amount debt for that.

if you haven’t already, read this book.

R.

[travelling-words-blog]

go.

i thought about him often and deeply.

but i had to go.

go somewhere that kept my mind and body busy.

somewhere big, and full of people.

somewhere that wouldn’t waste my youth.

. . .

i stared at my ceiling.

at the stick-on stars from my childhood. it looked like one of those paintings, like the ones that are so enchantingly beautiful that you could stay enamoured for hours.

so i bathed in my adolescence.

though, my childish heart still ached.

it was only then, when i had lifted my hand to reach aimlessly for the stars that i remembered he was by my side.

his hand reached, too.

but not for the stars. for me.

his hand brushed over my palm, scaling up to my fingers, interlocking them with his own.

“don’t.”

he voice was pained, i could hear from the raspiness that was intertwined with sound of his words so elegantly it was almost a sin. “you can’t go.”

i felt something boil over.

i had been carrying my teacup with such poise, and then came this tremor. it vibrated through me, and i dropped it. the smash echoed painfully through my mind.

i looked over at him.

and i studied him. i looked into his dark eyes, and for a moment, i thought that could be my somewhere. but then i looked at his lips, and i knew, i knew that would ruin it.

my hand slipped from his, moving to hold his jaw. and i couldn’t help it. i kissed him.

harshly. it was all his fault after all.

i needed this one slice of my youth before i escaped from it all. i needed something to remember.

but i couldn’t relish in it.

in fact, i was already mourning this moment.

when he started to speak, i knew what he was going to say. i knew, i knew, i knew.

“i’m so in love with you.”

and my heart shattered.

my mind, too.

my eyes began to bleed with sorrow. and he watched as they did. and his eyes soon bled, too. because he knew.

we both knew.

i parted my lips, and my heart tried to escape.

through shattered words and broken syllables, i said, “i’ve waited so long to be loved,”

and his chest fell, he was happy for a moment.

“but this isn’t it,”

and i cried.

he did, too.

“love isn’t what i need.”

and he smiled with tear-stained cheeks.

“you have to go.”

i nodded.

and suddenly, those stars didn’t seem so far.

R.

[travelling-words-blog]

hands.

i wanted something like love.

when it’s placed in a different light, maybe, you could love it. maybe, even me.

but when we touch that seems wrong. when your hand rests on mine, i can’t help but pull away.

i can’t stop feeling lost with you.

i can’t stop falling in love with you.

you say it’s the same, you say i’m all you’ve ever wanted. all you’ve ever longed for. dreamt of. all those words that make that thing in my chest swell, that thing i can’t control.

then you run the back of your hand against my face, and i fall into your touch. i fall into you.

you hold me in your hands, like a bird that has not yet learned or felt the need to fly.

my wings can open, but my feet stay cemented.

how dare you let me.

how dare you curl your hands around me, keeping me in place. keeping me away. keeping me lost.

yet, i adore you.

i fall senselessly into you and your misused words. but what elegant words they are.

how beautifully they flourish from your lips, from your soul.

and how, i wonder, can your mind and your touch be so devilishly equal?

and how, may i ask, can you touch me with your hands and not be disgusted with your own reflection?

R.

[travelling-words-blog]

you have the sweetest soul i have ever seen—you long for something stronger than love, to see the world in its entirety with all of its imperfections.

R.

[travelling-words-blog]

shawn in melbourne /// 3/3 nights

photo by me, rue.

[travelling-words-blog]

death was estranged from our reality until we grew.

R.

[travelling-words-blog]

piano.

her finger brushed against one of the white keys and in return, the piano chimed. for a moment, it felt as if it echoed through her.

then she felt his weak smile spread against her shoulder, and it made sense.

she was leaving.

he didn’t know yet, or maybe he did. but she hadn’t told him. maybe, he could sense it—the same way she could.

she wasn’t being forced, or pryed away from the debris of this relationship. she wasn’t packing her bags, in fact, they still shared a home.

his hand fell atop of her own, lifting it slightly to press the key. then softly again, and again.

they created a melody, it wasn’t loud, and it wasn’t beautiful. it made sense for them to stop—because it didn’t satisfy them in any way—but they continued.

until it faded away.

R.