Itās the way it lingers in the space between longing and loss, between the weight of history and the ache of what could have been. I feel like Iām always searching for something just out of reach, something that feels like home but never quite is. Similar to OāConnorās character, I think I understand what it means to carry ghosts and to seek meaning in the ruins.
2d ago
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I feel so intensely connected to the passion and love of the two poets, that I feel I have to write about them constantly. Most recently, I wrote a piece inspired by the Beatlesā āGoodbye (Home Demo)ā wherein Dante, after passing away, finds Virgil in Limbo, who had been waiting for him the whole time.
Itās not my best work, neither is it my best piece about them, but this one has a special place in my heart because it came from a feeling where I needed some solace.
Iāve linked it to this post!
3d ago
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Iām alone. Iām alone forever. I am the loneliest person to ever exist. I gave myself that title. Sometimes I wear it proudly. Sometimes it breaks my heart. I am missing something and I donāt know what it is. Maybe I never will. I am looking for something that takes my breath away.
Feb 4, 2024
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there's no standard treatment for a broken heart. i sigh quietly to myself, thinking iāll actually find an answer on how to heal a broken heart on google
it all began five years ago, when i finally started spending time with himāthe boy who seemed to shine a little brighter than the rest. he was the kindest, the prettiest, the one who made my heart feel lighter just by existing. and he wanted to be my friend. how could i not fall?
kept the friendship up for a couple of years and my crush for him grew even stronger. sometimes he would come up in my dreams and then i would try to summon fate itselfāmanifesting, wishing, aching for him to love me back. because, as every girl knows, there is always a phase where we believe the universe listens. and so, i rinsed and repeated, hoping one day, he would look at me the way I looked at him
when we messaged or meet up, he felt like my twin flame. a connection so deep, so natural, that i convinced myself he must feel it too. he understood me, and i understood him
but i never felt that he liked me as much as i liked him.
and then, it endedānot with a dramatic farewell, not with a grand confession, but with silence. I ruined it in my own quiet way: fading out, withdrawing, blocking him, letting the messages go unanswered. I stopped reaching out, and so did he. it was as if we had been a story left unfinished, pages ripped from the book before the final chapter could be written
it has been four months since we last spoke. and now, he has a girlfriend. may I addāthroughout our years of friendship, he never had one. situationships, yes, but never something real. yet, here she is. not me.
the day I found out, it struck me in a way I hadnāt expected. I had let him slip from my thoughts, let weeks pass without missing himāuntil I saw what I had once longed for, in the hands of someone else. I hadnāt realized I was still holding onto the dream until it shattered before me.
now, my mind drifts to what could have been. I picture myself in her place, feel the ghost of a life that was never mine.Ā would he have loved me, if I had held on? if I had tried? was I ever good enough for him? wasnāt I pretty enough for himā¦? whyā¦ herā¦ notā¦ meā¦?
time is meant to heal. i know this. but this wound runs deep. losing someone you once felt connected to in the deepest corners of your soul is a quiet kind of grief, the kind that doesnāt announce itself loudly but lingers in the spaces between thoughts. my heart feels heavy, my soul even heavier
but today, i miss him more than usually. iāve fallen to deep, so now every time i think of him, i will miss him deeply.
Feb 28, 2025
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raw, unfiltered explorations of intimacy, desire, and self-discoveryā¦a collection of stories that refuses to dilute Black womenās experiences, embracing both the tenderness and messiness of love!Ā
1d ago
Iāll always dream of this breakfast I made. The homemade spiced butter is the star of the show in my opinionāI could drink vats of it š
2d ago
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from tickets from my first Broadway show, receipts from many first dates, love letters, notes passed in class from when i was 7, pictures of one direction, teeth, photobooth strips, funeral programs.
my therapist calls it memory hoarding, i call it being sentimental and nostalgic šāš½
2d ago