⪩⪨

https://open.spotify.com/track/2rkWdRk71jf5WtWXcs8qzw?si=L_B-iE8QTKy-nZNoV9JYJw

from my rotting body, flowers shall grow and i am in them and that is eternity.

the fact that we eventually gave parts of ourselves to people who may only be passing through our life is even more absurd than the fact that i can still recall a stranger's favorite movie from years ago ८⑅◞ ꞈ ◟ა

ʚɞ —i so desperately want to be loved, but to be loved is to be known and no one who truly knows me will ever be able to love me.

in my dreams you love me back 

at times i suffer from the strangest sense of detachment from myself and the world around me; i seem to watch it all from the outside, from somewhere inconceivably remote, out of time, out of space, out of the stress and tragedy of it all.

i appreciate your concern. none of this is your fault. it's me. it's me and my head.

ʚɞ⁀ ✦ —I wanted very much not to be where I was. In fact part of the trouble seemed to be that where I was wasn't anywhere at all. My life felt empty and unreal and I was embarrassed about its thinness, the way one might be embarrassed about wearing a stained or threadbare piece of clothing. I felt like I was in danger of vanishing, though at the same time the feelings I had were so raw and overwhelming that I often wished I could find a way of losing myself altogether, perhaps for a few months, until the intensity diminished. If I could have put what I was feeling into words, the words would have been an infant's wail: I don't want to be alone. I want someone to want me. I'm lonely. I'm scared. I need to be loved, to be touched, to be held. It was the sensa- tion of need that frightened me the most, as if I'd lifted the lid on an unappeasable abyss. I stopped eating very much and my hair fell out and lay noticeably on the wooden floor, adding to my disquiet.

ever since my baby went away
          it's been the blackest day
                      

you just haven't earned it yet, baby
          you must suffer and cry for a longer time