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absolutely.

@lostacademichips

On grief and loss

1. Glennon Doyle Melton, Love Warrior/ 2. Andrew Garfield interview/ 3. Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix/ 4. Jamie Anderson/ 5. Fleabag/ 6. Anne Carson, Glass, irony and god / 7. Brokeback Mountain/ 8. Jandy Nelson, The Sky Is Everywhere/ 9. John Banville, The Sea/ 10. Wandavision

there's so much I do in life I have no one to share with, perhaps there is comfort in knowing that and not sharing that with anyone.

{Quotes: lilyrainpoety ( insta)/ Albert Camus, The Fall/fausto melotti l'uomo costant (1936) /Gemma troy/ainslie hogarth motherthing/‘what i could never confess without some bravado’, emily palermo/ Richard siken/mohmmad darwish//painting:holy Warburton//photos: pinterest}

Perhaps to lay hands on your child is to prepare him for war.

oh tumblr is in for a ride. 

When does a war end? When can I say your name and have it mean only your name and not what you left behind?

fuck

I didn’t know that the war was still inside you, that there was a war to begin with, that once it enters you it never leaves—but merely echoes

this book on page 2 is fucking me up. 

It only takes a single night of frost to kill off a generation. To live, then, is a matter of time, of timing.

going to post every ocean vuong line that hit me 

been a while,

ive changed,

i dont recognise the girl on the camera of my shitty phone anymore (mirror was too overused)

i leave here in a month exactly

knowing exactly how this place shaped me

i hate myself, i love myself, i despise myself, i pity myself, i laugh.

that’s what matters, i laugh. heartedly, thinking back, looking upon.

i think, i fucked up, but in a good way. 

the way I just know when I see him that it's him I want

and I hate it because I shouldn't, he's forbidden

but isn't that what we all yearn for

that touch of being so close to someone who ravages you, who makes you want to curl and scream and rage but also electrifies your skin with one touch because it's so forbidden

fuck

I hate how fucking well I know him even though we've never gotten to know each other, the power of observance is that much.

curled up rotting in this bed

going through reels and reels and reels of women i could never be

im a strong girl i like it when other girls are strong

but somewhere you'll never be the prettiest never be the hottest never be that girl never be the girl with the sexiest hair shade or the coolest tattoo or the it girl aesthetic

and i know and i know and I REALLY REALLY KNOW (im screaming so I convince myself)

that all this is material and all this is temporary and unoriginal

but what does that make me I'm neither here nor there

im just rottinf in my bed with my normal hair normal body with tummy fat i despise normal face which i want to change body i want to modify myself to curate just so

i could fit a standard.

?

for the lost woman.

since no one had noticed her existence, it was natural that there was no one to mourn her disappearance. 

havent seen both my men today this is a nice little predicament of sorts but it didn't matter, it literally didn't. the way the tamil just rolled off my tongue the way i just didn't need to give myself that push to smile the shuttle the time i actually spent with friends who were friends who were actually friends i really like this and i want to do better and god you know what? i actually might just.

its been so long since i brushed shoulders, elbows and thighs with a guy that gave me things to feel.

i can't grapple if im actually feeling this way or my emotions right now are a culmination of things ive always wanted to be always needed to feel always need to touch I've felt enough but just, not so. what did i just understand that the perks of being a wallflower touched me in so many ways? grass makes you feel? makes you feel infinite but not like the tunnel song infinite with bowie on the radio but infinite like art like the ouroboros inside and inside yourself, your body morphs into itself but it crushes and crushes and crushes because thats truly how you want to feel not liberated like the girl on the cover of my playlist.