it is absolutely unbearable (i am well aware) each time my friends sit with me and for some reason spot me scroll through my instagram and catch a glimpse of one of the most beautiful women to ever walk this earth and ask me, oh my god! do you know her? and all i say is a smug little yes. a smug little 'oh you can't even begin to comprehend' type of yes.
listen, it absolutely breaks my brain to be able to look upon her myself. knowing other people perceive her... oh, it leads to me having this self-satisfied small little evil moment every single time. the pride and horrid joy it gives me ought to be written about in history books - and the more private i keep it the better, even if i want to shout it from the rooftops at the same time. the closest thing to going to my head immediately and getting me drunk without having a drop of alcohol
best part is when this sours (waning moon! lughnasadh! agony of summer!) and turns into absolute torment. the very idea of her becomes haunting and painful: the very sight a thorn in your side and a torture method created specifically for you. the weight of your yearning is the rocks in your pocket as you walk into the sea. your friends pity you for the terror you willingly gave into: and you wear her favour and slowly stop believing it is even real. oh! pitiful beast! drown in your hunger!
i love being a beast of love and desire and poetic torment because it leads to ridiculous situations like taking MONTHS at this point to reply to a letter because you keep getting *distracted by her* instead of *replying to her*
i am a functional human being, thank you very much. and in other news, last night's thunder was tumultuous and beautiful - and did not cool anything or anyone nearly at all. wooo
