thinking about the way everyone we meet changes us. yes, some of them have a really bad impact on us, but love, friendship, small acts of kindness, knowing some people still care, it changes you too. sometimes a person doesn’t really know what to do, but they are willing to help, and that noticing that willingness and realizing you matter to someone, and that you should feel that your worthy of being cared for changes the way you see yourself. connection is such an important thing and being vulnerable again after being repeatedly hurt is terrifying, but it’s important to try to connect to others in a positive way, even if it’s just a small connection.
you carry inside a piece of everyone you’ve met. those who loved you but are now gone are still a part of you, so you haven’t lost them completely. the old you is still a part of present you. the world moves you, and it can be a hard thing to be vulnerable, but isolation is not the answer. there is a whole world outside waiting to embrace you, but you must allow it to.
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Eurydice, dying now a second time, uttered no complaint against her husband. What was there to complain of, but that she had been loved?
Ovid, Metamorphoses
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ON LOVE, ON VIOLENCE pt. II.
1. the winner’s kiss, marie rutkoski | 2. ídem, el spurlock | 3. wishbone, richard siken | 4. cassandra, christa wolf | 5. bloodsport, yves olades | 6. the c, the c, the open c, nbc’s the terror s1 | 7. the encounter, luise gluck | 8. a kiss with a fist, florence + the machine | 9. i don’t smoke, mitski | 10. the scars you love, iain thomas
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humans. humans and their feigned epiphanies at jokes they don't understand, their held-in breath when they look at the moon in any of its phases, the way they make little trinkets for each other's birthdays, or simply as a thank you for being alive. their wonder when they catch their first glimpse of the untouched snow in the early hours of the morning, or how they stop just to pet a cat when walking home. they paint and they cry and they dance. their poetry, their frustrated sighs, their laughter. all of it.
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do you ever see a person and you are overcome with incredible fondness? and you just think "oh." but not in a romantic or sexual way you are just filled with warmth and it makes you happy, it just does. and you think "i'm so happy you exist. i'm happy you are somewhere out there in the world, doing your thing". it's love but also not entirely
like people are lovely and i feel it in my entire chest like a burning candle that smells like roses and a sunny day
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one of the greatest tragedies in life is that you will always be loved more than you will ever know. someone in class finds your presence inviting and warm, even if you’ve only ever exchanged a few words with them—maybe none at all. someone on the street loves your smile and it gets them down the next few streets. someone you used to be friends with still wishes to fondly call your name. someone you used to be friends with five years ago would give anything to be in the same room as you today. someone who regularly comes into work is disappointed when you aren’t there to brighten their day. someone missed you today. someone noticed you were gone. someone loves you when you’re there; someone loves you when you’re nowhere to be found at all. you think you have always disappeared when you’re no longer in the picture, but you’ve never left the frame.
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when kafka said ‘you wouldn’t believe the kind of person I could become if you wanted it’ and when brontë said ‘if you ever looked at me with what I know is in you, I would be your slave’ and when Sartre said ‘if I’ve got to suffer it may as well be at your hands’
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favourite thing in the world is when the pages of a book go all soft and yellowy and the edges are slightly fuzzy and rounded. these books couldn’t give you a papercut if you tried they’ve been loved too much. they love you too much
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