faeqa

There's a beautiful phrase that says:
          
          "What we give doesn't always return, but what we give is always what we are."
          
          And that hits home.

For all the fallacies and fables
          I knew what you were, 
          that a lingering bitterness
          that morphs into “acceptable”
          I still reached for you anyway
          
          You were not my cherished trophy
          a verdict I came returning to,
          my trial, my tribunal and my misery
          
          So I should’ve choked on clay
          became an immortal statue 
          something hard and that didn’t ache
           
          
          I chose sweetness
          let it linger too long on my tongue
          knew it would turn
          and drank it anyway
          
          I poisoned myself with honey
          
          Oh, the fallacy
          thinking it would nourish me
          
          Oh, the misery
          realizing
          
          I knew all fucking along
          
          

I liked the idea of living in a city — any city, especially a strange one — liked the thought of traffic and crowds, of working in a bookstore, waiting tables in a coffee shop, who knew what kind of solitary life I might slip into? Meals alone, walking the dogs in the evenings; and nobody knowing who I was.
          
          // Donna Tartt, The Secret History
          

please pass down your greatness to me as well! <3 

@damcsl | No

One thing I'm sure Colborne will never understand is that I need language to live, like food—lexemes and morphemes and morsels of meaning nourish me with the knowledge that, yes, there is a word for this. Someone else has felt it before.
          
          //M.L. Rio, If We Were Villains

Hello, Faeqa! I hope you're doing fine. Heard you were in my city? I hope it treated you well.

Some of us think $50k is impossible in one year.
          Some of us think $50k is a bad month.
          Choose your tribe.
          
          The goal isn’t to wear brands, its to become one.

I didn’t choose this; 
          The life of a tragic poetess. 
          
          You were what I wanted
          and every bit 
          Not what I needed
          
          And I, so desperately, tried to mold 
          My wants
          Into my needs
          
          Choking oneself with clay
           instead of honey
          Is how an immortal statue is made.
          
          ~f.k. [12:18]

Your mother brought you up loyal and kind
          Teenage love taught you there's good in goodbye
          Every woman that you knew brought you here
          I wanna teach you how forever feels