“I’m caught between trying to live my life, and trying to run from it.” - Stephen Chbosky

—

it's about the small acts of intimacy... forehead kisses, putting jewelry on you, rubbing your hand with their thumb, putting a jacket on you, touching your necklace, running your hands through their hair, wiping away their tears, peeling them an orange, un/zipping their dress, tying their shoelaces, holding hands, removing an eyelash from their cheek, washing their hair, putting an anklet on them, tucking their hair behind their ear, sorting out their collar, untangling their necklaces, drinking out of a cup in their hands

Jamie Anderson/Glennon Doyle Melton, Love Warrior

Grief and love are interconnected

one thing i need to start living by is “become the thing that you want” if i want friends who throw themed parties maybe i should start throwing those parties. if i want someone who writes me love letters maybe i should start writing letters for the people i love. if i want to hang out at museums and pretty cafes maybe i should invite my friends to these places. and maybe even then i won’t find the kind of people i want to be around. but then i would have become the exact person i want to be around. and maybe that’s good enough.

Im trying to reminisce on the girl I was 3 years ago even more so 6 years ago, it’s hard. How carefree she seemed. How happy she seemed, my problems seem bigger now days though. If she knew how much time she had until she felt this way today. Would she have done anything different?

I want to be small again, sometimes in physical sense because I always complained how fat I was back then without a clue. But most in the sense of mentally. The feeling of being untouchable, nothing would truly harm you. As long as you had your friends and you were doing the opposite of what anyone told you. It felt earth shaking, inspiring, almost as if we knew a little more than those around us. We were experiencing life without trying to reap the consequences. There’s a thrill that comes with that, more than any substance could give you.

I found your dogs hair more than I found yours.

Zac always said you wouldn’t want it any different than that.

I’m 25 years old and I try to regulate my emotions. I feel guilty for not crying for you and I feel like I’m not living my life when I cry too much for you. I’m always teetering between what you would want, and logically I know there’s no answer. I distract and pretend. But trust me, when I’m alone, fully. I die a little more as time goes on. I listen to everyone talk about you, I know what to say you would do in that situation. The perks of wanting to be like you payed off but in the wrong way. The older I get the more I get pissed off you’re gone. Because I don’t want any friends, I want you. You get it, everything I feel. I just wish you were here. And I wish I never left you.

Today would’ve been the day. 2 years ago, you were still here.

"Or, like the poets, are you stimulated by despair, does grief move you to reveal your nature."

–Louise Glück, "Vespers" from Wilde Irıs

“How are you?”

With everything that’s been going on with me, I still find time and room to hurt for you. When the bills are stacking up, my schedule is changing relentlessly, a roller coaster of emotions. I need to do this for you, so I’m told in my therapy session. I had a bad spell the other night, and it was so crazy because I didn’t think of you at all that day to be honest. Until riding in my Uber and stepping through my front door, I broke down. I bawled on my floor for hours. Repeating phrases, “it doesn’t make sense” and “I want to go home”. How is it even now that I try to create a new life, new home, a new world for myself, and it feels as empty as the day you left. The most ironic and funny part is I’ve spent almost everyday growing up trying to run from the house we grew up in, and now in every moment of every emotion I want to go back there. Because you’re there. That’s the only place I know for sure you are. Don’t get me wrong I cry for you in brief moments most days only to repeat the words our mom said to us anytime we cried, dry it up. And most times I can, but I have a few “other nights” that I break down, I want to cry for days and not move from the spot that I’m in. But like I’ve been telling myself in most cynical way, the world doesn’t stop turning even when your world stops. So how are you? because I wonder oh so very often.

All my grief says the same thing— this isn't how it's supposed to be. And the world laughs, holds my hope by my throat, says: but this is how it is.

Fortesa Latifi, The Truth About Grief

If They Knew, If She Knew.

Losing her felt like I was suffocating only to realize my lungs were working. Losing her tore every emotion out of my body only to put them back more messed up than they were before. Losing her messed my time up, what I believed to be minutes were days, and days were seconds. Losing her meant having to watch my family break into a million pieces and have no one to lean on. Losing her made me destroy any bridge I deemed worth destroying in her honor. Losing her meant opening my eyes every morning to remember she’s gone, making myself move, scared that if I stood still for too long that weight would come crashing down on me and no one has time to save me because she's gone.

No because pride and prejudice isn't "I changed myself for you so you would love me back." It's "your blatant rejection and disdain for me made me realize things about myself no one had ever been bold enough to tell me so I sat down and evaluated all my behavior patterns and why they came about and came to the realization myself that I had to work on myself. Also I don't expect you to love me now that I'm a work in progress, so I'm just going to do nice things for you because I don't like seeing you hurt." No wonder P&P fans refuse to settle.

My Own Hell.

It’s been 334 days since you breathe the same air as us. Most times I cry for you, I pity you, I even blame the world for why you aren’t here. Whilst in the rare in between moments, I’m consumed with anger. Hatred is what pumps through my veins and I don’t take it lightly. But even after all those emotions, I still have energy to feel guilt. Guilt from not being able to save you.

That cycle repeats over and over. Stopping briefly to check in with reality because what I thought was 15 mins was really 4 hours, and I’m late for work. Again.

“I am made of my father’s eyes and my mother’s rage, peace has never looked good on me. You must think you are brave to love me. but I am a burning house with no exit doors, everyone turns to ashes when they step inside.”

—

Inferno

Sue Zhao

Instagram

“Being offended is a sign that something inside of you needs to be fixed.”

— Dan Go

my mom says she’s not a hugger. but when i put my arms around her on a gloomy day or after bad news she’s the last to let go. my dad says he doesn’t want gifts on his birthday, but i see the way his face light up when i get him a card with a nice message and a box full of chocolate anyway. he’s just a kid inside, still. it makes him giddy. my brother never says i love you. but when i tell him “i just need to finish the dishes before i vacuum!” he wordlessly goes to vacuum the entire house before i can, and if he sees me struggle with a wrapper or a jar or a bottle he mutters ‘c’mere’ and opens it for me without even sparing me a glance. the thing is, people love you quietly, and you love them quietly, and the air is buzzing with tiny but grand gestures & once you look for them, you find them everywhere. i think that’s really beautiful.