For You Alone I Will Be Weak

When you crave pain and rage and violence and death and destruction but you're just a girl.

she's a 10 but not handsome enough to tempt me

arabic poetry is so beautifully yet painfully romantic, i mean “they asked “do you love her to death?” i said “speak of her over my grave and watch how she brings me back to life" and “because my love for you is higher than words, i've decided to fall silent" and "it is not enough to say love in Arabic, you must say 'be the thing that buries me'" could have got jane austen crying and shaking

cant sleep too busy thinking about “love is awful. it’s awful. it’s painful. it’s frightening. it makes you doubt yourself, judge yourself, distance yourself from the other people in your life. it makes you selfish. it makes you creepy, makes you obsessed with your hair, makes you cruel, makes you say and do things you never thought you would do. it’s all any of us want, and it’s hell when we get there. so no wonder it’s something we don’t want to do on our own. i was taught if we’re born with love then life is about choosing the right place to put it. people talk about that a lot, feeling right, when it feels right it’s easy. but i’m not sure that’s true. it takes strength to know what’s right. and love isn’t something that weak people do. being a romantic takes a hell of a lot of hope. i think what they mean is, when you find somebody that you love, it feels like hope.”

stories where the past is a wound that refuses to heal

ok stories where the past is an itch you keep absentmindedly scratching and wonder why the burning is getting worse

all i’m saying is: the past is a bodily sensation

the muse said it’s my turn to tell the iliad

if i bring a book someplace it doesn't necessarily mean i want to read it mayb i just want to take her own a walk. Get her some fresh air and a change of scenery