...love is to destroy.

will you believe me once again?


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oTHErs;
i'm just passi♡nate!, i'm not crazy
strangemadchen
1.

There are, I think, only two types of people. There are those who ache, and those who don’t. I have yet to meet those who don’t. I ache for the unrealisable dreams, I ache for the options I didn’t take. I ache for the world as I wish it was. I ache because I love the world, and I hate I’ll have to leave it so soon, too soon. I knew a man who ached because he’d always wanted slightly more. I knew a man. She would lie beside him, and she could never be enough, and he knew it, because he would always want more. Does the ache get passed by the hurt?

There are two types of people, those who live and those who don't.

I’d wrap you in silk if I thought it would keep you safe but I know the only way to live is to love so much it aches. Love everything, love the hurt that loving can leave. To ache is to be alive. I remember you saying that, just before you left.

2.

I wonder how biology can explain the physical pain you feel in your chest when all you want to do is be with someone. by Dan Howell.

3.

Thank you, my heart:
you don’t dawdle, you keep going
with no flattery or reward,
just from inborn diligence.
you get seventy credits a minute.
each of your systoles
shoves a little boat
to open sea
to sail around the world.
thank you, my heart:
time after time
you pluck me, separate even in sleep,
out of the whole.
you make sure I don’t dream my dreams
up to that final flight,
no wings required.
thank you, my heart:
I woke up again
and even though it’s sunday,
the day of rest,
the usual preholiday rush
continues underneath my ribs. by Wisława Szymborska.

4.

i want to know your birthday and your parents jobs and if you ever heard them fighting or having sex and if you love your siblings and the worst fight you’ve ever gotten into and if you like one sibling more than the other and what you wanted to be when you grew up when you were seven and your dream vacation and the most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to you and if you’ve been to therapy and if it helped and the hardest thing you’ve experienced and how you overcame it and if you like what you see when you look in the mirror and if you think appearances matter in a relationship or at all and your favorite movie and which books changed your life and the hardest you’ve ever cried and which grandparent you loved the most and if the words “we need to talk” make you sick to your stomach and why and which holiday is your favorite and which season and which color and if you like rain and if you’re scared of dying and if you believe in god and if you have allergies and to what and what your favorite food is and restaurant and if you like to cook and whether or not you care about cleanliness and what your political views are and if you’re a feminist and your favorite flower and song and if you’d rather own a cat or a dog and if you’d shave off all your hair to give it to a little girl going through chemotherapy and where you’d like to live and honeymoon and what kind of gum and candy you like and what you act like when you’re mad and if you’d rather someone buy you silver or gold jewelry or neither and what clique you were in in high school and what you think your spirit animal is and which flower you’d be and who you admire and which traits you wish were more dominant and if you ever worry you’re a shitty person and what hurt you the most and why you ever thought you were worthless and how someone can make you feel better when you’re sad and if you prefer hugs or kisses and what your house looks like and what your dream car is and which celebrity you think lives the most tragic life and why you think people become so cold and what you think about nature vs nurture and if you believe in heaven and aliens and mermaids and reincarnation and the bible and which feeling is your least favorite and what was the best day you ever had and what would be the best day and if you see yourself as the protector or one who needs protecting and how you deal with your pain and what you would do if you had 100 million dollars and if you think wealth affects people’s morals and what good you think writing is and if you could do it all over, would you and what would you change and what mistake was your biggest and which language you wish you spoke fluently and how many people you’ve loved and if you loved the person you lost your virginity to and if you realize you’re remarkable and what your enneagram is and how you think we could improve the education system and what you think of people who commit suicide and if you think they’re selfish and what you say to them before they did it if you could and what your favorite memory of your childhood is and how you take your tea or if you prefer coffee and when you last wrote someone a handwritten letter and what the best gift you ever received was and what the best piece of advice was and when the last time you cried was and if you’re competitive about board games and which is your favorite and if you feel pressured to settle down and what you notice first in a person and what your top three pet peeves are and if you have any phobias and what you’ve always wanted to do but don’t have the courage to go through with and what you do when you feel overwhelmingly sad and if you ski and if plastic surgery was 100% safe and painless, would you get it and where and why and where you think home is and if you think politeness is important and what you think of indecisive people and if you think there’s ever a reason to go to war and something that scares you and if you believe in therapy and what you want in life and what you look for in a partner and what you want to change about yourself and about the world and who you want to be and who you are. just tell me who you are.

5.

You’re not doing well and finally I don’t have to pretend to be so interested in your on going tragedy,

but

I’ll rob the bank that gave you the impression that
money is more fruitful than words, and
I’ll cut holes in the ozone if it means you have one less day of rain.
I’ll walk you to the hospital,
I’ll wait in a white room that reeks of hand sanitizer and latex for the results from the MRI scan that tries to
locate the malady that keeps your mind guessing, and
I want to write you a poem every day until my hand breaks
and assure you that you’ll find your place,
it’s just
the world has a funny way of
hiding spots fertile enough for
bodies like yours to grow roots.

and

I miss you like a dart hits the iris of a bullseye,
or a train ticket screams 4:30 at 4:47, I
wanted to tell you that it’s my birthday on Thursday
and I would have wanted you to
give me the gift of your guts on the floor, one last time,
to see if you still had it in you.

I hope our ghosts aren’t eating you alive.
If I’m to speak for myself, I’ll tell you that
the universe is twice as big as we think it is
and you’re the only one that made that idea
less devastating.

6.

I love you as the plant that never blooms but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers; thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance, risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

7.

One time, investigating in the backyard of our house in Temuco the tiny objects and minuscule beings of my world, I came upon a hole in one of the boards of the fence. I looked through the hole and saw a landscape like that behind our house, uncared for, and wild. I moved back a few steps, because I sensed vaguely that something was about to happen. All of a sudden a hand appeared — a tiny hand of a boy about my own age. By the time I came close again, the hand was gone, and in its place there was a marvelous white sheep.

The sheep’s wool was faded. Its wheels had escaped. All of this only made it more authentic. I had never seen such a wonderful sheep. I looked back through the hole, but the boy had disappeared. I went into the house and brought out a treasure of my own: a pinecone, opened, full of odor and resin, which I adored. I set it down in the same spot and went off with the sheep.

To feel the intimacy of brothers is a marvelous thing in life. To feel the love of people whom we love is a fire that feeds our life. But to feel the affection that comes from those whom we do not know, from those unknown to us, who are watching over our sleep and solitude, over our dangers and our weaknesses — that is something still greater and more beautiful because it widens out the boundaries of our being, and unites all living things.

That exchange brought home to me for the first time a precious idea: that all of humanity is somehow together…

It won’t surprise you then that I attempted to give something resiny, earth-like, and fragrant in exchange for human brotherhood. Just as I once left the pinecone by the fence, I have since left my words on the door of so many people who were unknown to me, people in prison, or hunted, or alone.

8.

I don’t care that you got into drugs for three months straight, or how much sleep you lost in that period. I don’t care that you went home and fucked that person and woke up at 6am hating everything about yourself, or that you smoked so much you sounded as though your lungs were giving out.

You’re not a bad person for the ways you tried to kill your sadness.

You’re just human, and being human means you need to survive and you do so whichever way you deem fit, fuck everyone else.

9.

And when it started to get dark you pointed to the sky, and told me there was a star for every thing you loved about me.

10.

Come sleep with me: we won’t make love, love will make us.

11.

I don't think all writers are sad, she said. I think it's the other way around- all sad people write.

12.

There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.

13.

Let’s raise children who wont have to recover from their childhoods.”

14.

My biggest fear is that one day my kids will be crying alone to themselves at night and I wont know about it.

15.

It's a funny thing about the modern world. You hear girls in the toilets of clubs saying, "Yeah, he fucked off and left me. He didn't love me. He just couldn't deal with love. He was too fucked up to know how to love me." Now, how did that happen? What was it about this unlovable century that convinced us we were, despite everything, eminently lovable as a people, as a species? What made us think that anyone who fails to love us is damaged, lacking, malfunctioning in some way? And particularly if they replace us with a god, or a weeping madonna, or the face of Christ in a ciabatta roll---then we call them crazy. Deluded. Regressive. We are so convinced of the goodness of ourselves, and the goodness of our love, we cannot bear to believe that there might be something more worthy of love than us, more worthy of worship. Greeting cards routinely tell us everybody deserves love. No. Everybody deserves clean water. Not everybody deserves love all the time.

16.

er room was warm and lightsome. A huge doll sat with her legs apart in the copious easy-chair beside the bed. He tried to bid his tongue speak that he might seem at ease, watching her as she undid her gown, noting the proud conscious movements of her perfumed head.
As he stood silent in the middle of the room she came over to him and embraced him gaily and gravely. Her round arms held him firmly to her and he, seeing her face lifted to him in serious calm and feeling the warm calm rise and fall of her breast, all but burst into hysterical weeping. Tears of joy and relief shone in his delighted eyes and his lips parted though they would not speak.
She passed her tinkling hand through his hair, calling him a little rascal. Give me a kiss, she said.

His lips would not bend to kiss her. He wanted to be held firmly in her arms, to be caressed slowly, slowly, slowly. In her arms he felt that he had suddenly become strong and fearless and sure of himself. But his lips would not bend to kiss her.

With a sudden movement she bowed his head and joined her lips to his and he read the meaning of her movements in her frank uplifted eyes. It was too much for him. He closed his eyes, surrendering himself to her, body and mind, conscious of nothing in the world but the dark pressure of her softly parting lips. They pressed upon his brain as upon his lips as though they were the vehicle of a vague speech; and between them he felt an unknown and timid pressure, darker than the swoon of sin, softer than sound or odour.

17.

I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)
The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)
God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan's men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
I fancied you'd return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)
I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

18.

Last night I realized what is the problem - there is no problem:
Men always win at life
That is what I found out
Or was forced to admit
You have to look at their hands
Not at their mind
Cause it's not very sharp
Look at the lines on their face
Look at the way posture strikes sometimes
as they walk into a room
Like cats
they always fall on their feet
They keep up with that charm
even when they rob a bank;
especially if they rob a bank
they have something called charisma
Which is fluent
even when they deceit.
In fact, they always deceit
because they know they will be forgiven.
They always smile
because they know the world is made of train stations
and it's easy to jump into another story
once this one is done.
Men always come clean
and with age, they come across
more and more train stations
let's call them opportunities
because life had a strange way to present men and women with growing in reverse;
and we were taught to leave in order to gain presence;
we were taught we are disposable
and equipped with liquids, minerals and gold to preserve our fading beauty
because our charm is our only fluence
and it's a language with an expiration date;
men always win at life
it's always been like this;
Unlike women, for whom deceit is a stain
presence is an ephemere stage
and balance
Balance is the runway where we jog hopeful to misguide age.
But men always win at life
Because they have to make us laugh
make us fall
head over high heels
and they do
even when they deceit.

19.

Loving you
is like breathing
with a finite supply of air.
The more I consume,
less likely I'd survive long.
But not doing so
would kill me either."

20.

I tried to call the doctor
But the line is always dead
So I spend the night
Talking to my cigarettes
Guess it's not the same
But smoke does this thing
Just as good when I'm hiding
When it takes clouds into my head.

21.

Do you not then hear this horrible scream all around you that people usually call silence?

22.

That’s the fuel that I run off of, inspiration. “Inspire” comes from Latin: “spire” means to breathe, “inspire” means to breathe in…so inspiration is not some far-fetched thing to me. I’m inspired by being alive, by being in love.

23.

Freedom and love go together. Love is not a reaction. If I love you because you love me, that is mere trade, a thing to be bought in the market; it is not love. To love is not to ask anything in return, not even to feel that you are giving something- and it is only such love that can know freedom.

24.

“He allowed himself to be swayed by his conviction that human beings are not born once and for all on the day their mothers give birth to them, but that life obliges them over and over again to give birth to themselves.”
(From Love in the Time of Cholera by Gabriel García Márquez)

Gabriel possessed the rare power to weave magic through the cracks of reality. It's impossible to think that someone who shone so brightly could ever really die. I'll allow myself to be swayed by the conviction that he did not leave once and for all on the day death came to kiss him goodnight, but that his art has obliged him to continue to exist in a perpetual dream-state — one where his dreams become inhabitable to us every time we open the pages of his books and walk into his magic. And that death does not come with old age, as he put it, but with oblivion.

25.

Perhaps all the dragons in our lives are princesses who are only waiting to see us act, just once, with beauty and courage. Perhaps everything that frightens us is, in its deepest essence, something helpless that wants our love.

26.

I enjoy controlled loneliness. I like wandering around the city alone. I’m not afraid of coming back to an empty flat and lying down in an empty bed. I’m afraid of having no one to miss, of having no one to love.

27.

You massage the universe’s spine
The way you twirl through time
And leave shadows on the sun.
My love is the wind’s song.
If it is up to me, I’ll never die.
If it is up to me, I’ll die tomorrow
A thousand times in an hour
And live seven minutes later.
If it's up to me,
The sun will never cease to shine
And the moon will never cease to glow
And I’ll dance a million tomorrows
In the sun rays of the moon waves
And bathe in the yesterdays of days to come
Ignoring all of my afterthoughts and preconceived notions.
If it is up to me, it is up to me.
And thus is my love;
Untainted,
Eternal.
The wind is the moon’s imagination, wandering.
It seeps through cracks, ripples the grass, explores the unknown.
My love is my soul’s imagination.
How do I love you?
Imagine.

28.

I, too, remember the feeling. You are caught between all that was and all that must be. You feel lost.

29.

I’ve been in love before, it’s like a narcotic. At first it brings the euphoria of complete surrender. The next day you want more. You’re not addicted yet, but you like the sensation, and you think you can still control things.You think about the person you love for two minutes then forget them for three hours. But then you get used to that person, and you begin to be completely dependent on them. Now you think about him for three hours and forget him for two minutes. If he’s not there, you feel like an addict who can’t get a fix. And just as addicts steal and humiliate themselves to get what they need, you’re willing to do anything for love.

30.

There is nothing more truly artistic than to love people.

31.

As the planet gets progressively less innocent, you need a more innocent eye to see it.

32.

Try to be a rainbow in someone’s cloud.

33.

It's hard to beat a person who never gives up.

34.

Art flies around truth, but with the definite intention of not getting burnt. Its capacity lies in finding in the dark void a place where the beam of light can be intensely caught, without this having been perceptible before.”

35.

If you were alone you would cut yourself in two so that one part would shape the other.

36.

It’s like being in love: giving somebody the power to hurt you and trusting (or hoping) they won’t.

37.

Of course I’ll hurt you, of course you’ll hurt me. Of course we will hurt each other. But this is the very condition of existence. To become spring, means accepting the risk of winter. To become presence, means accepting the risk of absence.

38.

Boys cry
Cigarettes do kill,
parents lie,
boats sink,
flowers die,
Life goes on,
with or without you."
— sad facts that come along with existing.

39.

For I do not exist: there exist but the thousands of mirrors that reflect me. With every acquaintance I make, the population of phantoms resembling me increases. Somewhere they live, somewhere they multiply. I alone do not exist.

40.

Come celebrate with me that everyday something has tried to kill me and has failed.

41.

You are not breakable simply because you have broken;
try to remember that you will never be any less than whole.
A broken person is still a whole person.

42.

Damaged people are dangerous. They know they can survive.

43.

I think I fall in love a little bit with anyone who shows me their soul. This world is so guarded and fearful. I appreciate rawness so much.

44.

i. don’t let an artist fall in love
with you if you can’t bear the shape
of your own mouth or the lines and
curves of your body or if you cant
stand to have foggy moments translated into
some short lasting form of sense
they will take all the beautiful
(and broken) pieces of you and
make you into something only they
can understand

ii. don’t fall in love with an artist
unless you’re a blank canvas because
they will paint upon the dark spots and
write in the empty spaces of you even without
meaning to because their hands are dirty
with paint smears and ink blots and wishful
thinking
but they will not
posses you so much as you
will come to posses them.

45.

A long time ago, when you were a wee thing, you learned something, some way to cope, something that, if you did it, would help you survive. It wasn’t the healthiest thing, it wasn’t gonna get you free, but it was gonna keep you alive. You learned it, at five or six, and it worked, it *did* help you survive. You carried it with you all your life, used it whenever you needed it. It got you out—out of your ass-backwards town, away from an abuser, out of range of your mother’s un-love. Or whatever. It worked for you. You’re still here now partly because of this thing that you learned.

The thing is, though, at some point you stopped needing it. At some point, you got far enough away, surrounded yourself with people who love you. You survived. And because you survived, you now had a shot at more than just staying alive. You had a shot now at getting free. But that thing that you learned when you were five was not then and is not now designed to help you be free. It is designed only to help you survive. And, in fact, it keeps you from being free. You need to figure out what this thing is and work your ass off to un-learn it. Because the things we learn to do to survive at all costs are not the things that will help us get FREE. Getting free is a whole different journey altogether."

46.

You know you're in love when you can't fall asleep because reality is finally better than your dreams.

47.

And then I felt sad because I realized that once people are broken in certain ways, they can’t ever be fixed, and this is something nobody ever tells you when you are young and it never fails to surprise you as you grow older as you see the people in your life break one by one. You wonder when your turn is going to be, or if it’s already happened.

48.

Depression does not always mean
Beautiful girls shattering at the wrists
A glorified, heroic battle for your sanity
Or mothers that never got the chance to say good-bye

Sometimes depression means
Not getting out of bed for three days
Because your feet refuse to believe
That they will not shatter upon impact with the floor

Sometimes depression means
That summoning the willpower
To go downstairs and do the laundry
Is the most impressive thing you accomplish that week

Sometimes depression means
Lying on the floor staring at the ceiling for hours
Because you cannot convince your body
That it is capable of movement

Sometimes depression means
Not being able to write for weeks
Because the only words you have to offer the world
Are trapped and drowning and I swear to God I’m trying

Sometimes depression means
That every single bone in your body aches
But you have to keep going through the motions
Because you are not allowed to call in to work depressed

Sometimes depression means
Ignoring every phone call for an entire month
Because yes, they have the right number
But you’re not the person they’re looking for, not anymore.

49.

You don’t need someone to complete you, you only need someone to accept you completely.

50.

Against whom rose,
have you assumed these thorns?
Is it your too fragile joy that forced you
to become this armed thing?
But from whom does it protect you,
this exaggerated defense?
On the contrary, from summer to autumn
you wound the affection that is given you.

51.

one day you’ll wake up and realize that you are too big for your own skin.
molt.
don’t be afraid.

52.

You’re going to be sad.
You’re going to want to scream and punch things.
Do it.
Let out every ounce of anger you have.
Sit on the floor and cry until you feel numb.
Listen to songs that make your heart sink to your feet.
Write angry letters to all the people who have broken you, left you, ignored you or hurt you.
Throw your hairbrush at the wall.
Do it twelve times.
Do it until you feel like you can breathe again.
You’re going to be sad.
You’re going to want to hurt yourself.
Don’t you dare do it.
Sit on the floor and watch cartoons like you did when you were little.
Listen to songs that make you want to dance around your bedroom in your underwear at 3 A.M.
Make paper airplanes out of those angry letters and watch them soar into the fireplace.
Brush all the knots out of your hair and say “I am worth it” into the mirror.
Say it twelve times.
Say it until you feel like you can breathe again.
You’re going to be sad.
You’re going to get through it.
— things I wish I could make you understand.


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