i am so in love with life and the world and i deserve to grow and gain from this feeling, as it lasts. it is always enough to sustain me.
someone told me that i look like a prettier version of kat dennings today. i don’t know if that’s true per say, but i’ll take it as a compliment i guess.
You are not a burden.
You are not a bother.
You enhance the lives of others.
People smile, not groan, when you text them.
Rules: In a text post, list ten books that have stayed with you in some way. Don’t take but a few minutes, and don’t think too hard — they don’t have to be the “right” or “great” works, just the ones that have touched you. Tag [ten] friends, including me, so I’ll see your list. Make sure you let your friends know you’ve tagged them.
The Waves, Virginia Woolf
The Tombs of Atuan, Ursula K. Le Guin
The Blind Asassin, Margaret Atwood
The Yellow Wallpaper, Charlotte Perkins Gillman
Lirael, Garth Nix
Little Women, Louisa May Alcott
Wuthering Heights, Emily Bronte
Cloud Atlas, David Mitchell
Madame Bovary, Gustave Flaubert
Orlando, Virginia Woolf
If the world boiled down to nothingness, I would remain to face whatever came after. How can you live in the present when you are so sure you have lived before? I am living through, simultaneously. I see through eyes that are not mine now, maybe they will be soon, maybe they were once mine until they closed forever. I am living between lightning flashes. Between exhale and inhale. Fingers wrapped around my throat as the world through my eyes goes dark around the edges, I see stars. Bursting pinpricks of light on the windowshades, the walls, your skin. I am possessed with light.
I haven’t written like this in a long time.
My eyes are amber, in sunlight-gold with a darker ring around the outer edge. Like, tree-rings. My eyes are a map, all my lives etched in circles around my sight. If I look long enough in the mirror I can feel them, like sobs clawing their way up from the pit of my stomach. Bad news tastes like iron, blood seeping into my mouth from biting the inside of my cheek. I have lived before. Lied before. Tore through flesh like a thoughtless animal and wore myself down to a gasping shell of a girl, sprawled out on the newly-turned earth. What would have been a garden. Insect songs singing me into unconciousness. Light and life disappearing into the edges of my vison. I awaken underwater.
What neurosis is this? To write like this? To feel like this. I have been an empty vessel since the moment I became self-aware. Some spark woke me from nothingness, the dark hand I held in some void between walls of time and space and meaning. I don’t have another half. I am whole. Complete. Built like a machine to parrot back these voices to you. When I can’t get out of bed I am swimming through dark to find pearls of sunlight, flashes of electricity. There are flames under my skin, illuminating the world. Worlds, whatever they are shifting around me. I sleep and untangle all these lives. I will stand alone at the end. I am one with silence, the vaccum against my ears. The bright begining, far too short and the dark that follows.
I could always see better in the dark. Under the shadow of wings.