You kissed me a backdrop of stars and I exhaled the solar system.
I am too much of a fool to not love you.
“Of all insects - wait, a moth is an insect right?”
“No it’s a truck”
-stare- “Ok well, of all trucks, moths are the ones I’m least afraid of”
realist boys think they know everything. they do. they try to put words in my mouth and they misinterpret everything that i do. they try to assign an identity to me by what i do and what i say, or rather, what i don’t. they dumb me down and treat me as a girl instead of a human. and so sometimes i like to throw them off by being really poetic and they have absolutely not even the slightest idea what i said. and i just smirk
there is not magic
everywhere, and you do not live
in a fairy house.
there is a darkness
that even pink summer sunsets
the air is not made of
nectar and you are not
“Chase the moonlight.”
“And how exactly do you do that?”
“It’s a metaphor.”
i don’t think i’m happy nor sad, extroverted nor introverted, driven nor lazy. i think i’m just one huge blob of emotions and i fluctuate from one to the next. everything changes according to how i feel. the world is brighter when i feel imaginative and connected to my surroundings. the world is grey when i feel grey myself. and i used to hate this very aspect of myself, because there was never any certainty. i always thought it was only imminent until i met face-to-face with insanity. one day i seem to feel on top of the world and the next day there isn’t enough air to breathe. one day i am an endless scroll of apologies, the next full of inspiration. my emotions are an intense game of tennis, and in hand, my whole persona is thrown back and forth. i become so dizzy trying to think about who i am. and then yesterday after that period of elation, i plummeted into a pool of worthlessness. i tracked my thoughts and just stopped them and thought to myself, “this is silly. it’s 4am and you’re tired and you’re a little sick. go to bed and you’ll wake up feeling better.” and well, it didn’t start off like that today. this morning i didn’t wake up feeling worthless, but every thing i saw and every thing i read only made me well up in tears, and i wondered if my life had become one huge pms episode.
i think the best thing sensitive people can do is to love the ebb and flow of their emotions. it’s the only thing we can do so that we don’t rip our skin off and gnaw at our bones. some people identify with their career, others identify with their thoughts, their knowledge. i identify with my emotions. my emotions are who i am. and i need to let go of that image. because if i identify myself with what i feel, then i will only oscillate between all of this madness until i am only madness.
we must love the whole spectrum of emotions in us in order to fully accept ourselves, otherwise we struggle and struggle and throughout that struggle, we inevitably hold onto whatever emotion we’re feeling instead of just letting it go.
maybe that’s the point of everything, to find the balance between holding on and letting go with just the perfect amount.
life wouldn’t be nearly as beautiful if there wasn’t always a story behind absolutely everything. life is rarely as it seems and too much as it seems. that is the beauty of paradoxes
Our culture teaches us so little about the meaning of love. In fact, its ideals are distorted. We live in a world where live is defined as dangerous, and we’re reminded of this every time a relationship of ours goes awry. Society teaches us it’s more important to protect our self-image than it is to form an open and deep relationship with others. Well, that’s just it. How can we form a true relationship with anyone around us when we can’t even connect to ourselves? If I asked you - are you easy to love - would you truthfully and genuinely say yes? Would you say yes at all?
We live in a society where we focus on the flaws, unable to recognize the recognize the beauty of the soul. We’re always seemingly on the defense trying to be the offense. Everything centers around retaliation. Why is that? Why do we feed our ego with lies and justifications? Why do we assign labels to revealings of the soul as weak more often than strong? How different would life be if we were less judgmental of ourselves, and more open?
Why do we view love as a catastrophe instead of a miracle? A gift sent by angels? Perhaps it is because of how love is conceptualized in society - too fanatical, too out-of-reach, too unreal.
So then what happens? We pretend to be in love. We pretend that accumulated time equals to love. We deceive ourselves with the thought that someone who makes us feel secure (or moreover, keep the walls of the ego high) is love.
We are mistaken. We are deluded. We think that the more attractive we are, the more we’re able to win over somebody. We try and fit this idea of “pretty” so that we can be fit for this idea of pseudoromance. I don’t blame this, you see. Romance exists everywhere in media. We live in a world where everything is romanticized but nearly holds zero meaning. For example: dinners where he pays, where he escorts you back home, nights where he asks if you made it home safely. We care more about the idea of love than the person itself. We care more about materialized love than an actual connection. We think we owe it to others to be the best boyfriend or girlfriend we can be, so we dress ourselves up with fancy cologne (seductive, they say) and an expensive attire only to be worn once to see how fast it can be ripped off from your body. We buy our way into love.