I am Made of Memories

The older i get the more i understand why some people become obsessed with privacy, not because they’re hiding something, but because being constantly perceived starts to feel spiritually exhausting.

just the two of us / we can make it if we try.

you ever hear a new song and immediately go “oooh the fake scenarios in my head are gonna love this”

has anyone figured out how to turn off the thing where you love your pet so much it slides inexorably into grief-borrowing

“For me this glass is already broken. I enjoy it; I drink out of it. It holds my water admirably, sometimes even reflecting the sun in beautiful patterns. If I should tap it, it has a lovely ring to it. But when I put this glass on the shelf and the wind knocks it over or my elbow brushes it off the table and it falls to the ground and shatters, I say, ‘Of course.’ When I understand that the glass is already broken, every moment with it is precious.”

the draw of arranged marriage AUs to me is really the way the dubcon of it all binds them together. neither of them have a choice in being here, something else is foisting this upon them whether that’s their parents or the political situation around them or expectation or something else, but the point is that they don’t get that one choice. so they have to make a choice somewhere else, that now that they’re here, they’re going to make it work. they’re each other’s only allies, in this cage built around them. they may have been coerced into swearing to stand by each other through anything, but they did swear.

it’s not love at first, or second, or third sight. it’s not love in the wedding bed the first time, whether they grit their teeth through it or decide together to forgo that binding step and try to get around it as long as they can. it’s about sharing a bed with a stranger while you learn their nightmares and how they hog the covers. it’s about sharing a name before you even know each other’s hobbies. the appearances you have to keep up, and the connection you find in both being exhausted by them, laughing together because isn’t it ridiculous how you not only have to be married but you have to act like it’s perfect and lovely for everyone else watching. it’s love that creeps up quiet and slow, between shared secrets that make your wedding bands mean something for the first time, and trying to protect each other from the trap you’re both in. and it’s about having the mortifying thought of “oh my god, i have a crush on my wife.”