having friends is important because otherwise youâll stay convinced your parents are normal

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@ajarofwords
having friends is important because otherwise youâll stay convinced your parents are normal

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based on a true story
love elizabeth s.
I don't care what anyone says, brilliance is sexy. Intelligence is sexy. Maturity is sexy. Having a mentally stimulating conversation is sexy. Having a great body is good, being fit is great, health is important. Charm is nice. But intelligence, my God, intelligence is absolutely sexy.

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I feel like I live inside an endless funeral, where time doesnât move, only lingers. People come and go, offering quiet condolences, and I greet them with a practiced smile, nodding as if I belong to this ritual. Iâve learned how to look whole while carrying something that isnât. Sometimes I stay longer than I should, not because I want to, but because I donât know where else to go. Beyond this space feels uncertain, while here, everything Iâve lost still feels closeâjust out of reach.
People really underestimate the power of just telling someone you like them. romantically obviously but hell even just platonically too. You can admit you enjoy peoples presence it doesnât have to be mind games itâs okay to just be sincere and true with your thoughts and intentions btw
Tell The People You Love That You Love Them, By Rachel C. Lewis
Sylvia Plath, from a diary entry featured in The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath
Six words to make seven wounds: Did you forget or did I? A blistering silence, an empty space Sorrow that should not be And something that should have no name

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Thereâs a bottomless hollow where my heart used to beat,
an ache that swells and folds me in its grief.
I scream in silence
my voice swallowed by the dark,
choking on echoes of my own cries.
Iâve become the pit I once feared to see,
and I die a little more each time it calls to me.
I pray you find someone who talks to you gently, even when theyâre mad.
without arts & crafts we are in hell
â YĹŤ Miri, Tokyo Ueno Station
tmi doesn't exist to me. I love information

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we are all âdifficultâ sometimes. that doesnât make you a problem or a burden or an inconvenience. it makes you a human being with feelings.
I see you slipping letters,
holding the pieces
of your torn heart
beneath the battered door.
Papers whisper stories
of your slaughtered love,
echoes from the battles
that long pronounced you dead.
Yet still, you try
to master the science
of stitching yourself back,
just to taste love again.