endericarus

scrolling on Pinterest and seeing shit like, “5 things girls who smell good don’t do” and fighting the feminist in me who says, “ugh that’s so stupid and literally designed to lower a girls self esteem so they’ll click” with the insecure little girl in me who says, “but maybe, I do this one thing and someone will finally like me. Maybe, after all this time, maybe I can make someone like me”

And I love her. Of course I do. She’s my mom for god’s sake. But sometimes I don’t know if I like her very much.

Love is real and it’s the look on your friend’s face when you do something exasperatingly endearing and all they can say is “you absolute fool”

I am living with the grief of girlhood and the reckoning of womanhood and I am also just trying to be a 16 year old girl who has never been in love because no one has wanted to try and love her and I don’t know what to do with myself or how to wake up in the morning. I am living with the knowledge that no one has ever been in love with me and the ignorance of not understanding why and I think there’s something wrong with me on the inside, something that people can’t figure out how to fix. I don’t know how to tell them that it’s not something you can fix. That it’s just me :/

Summer is good. I love summer. I wait all year for summer before every summer. But then August comes. And I am reminded of why I like rainy weather and melancholy. I am reminded of why I also don’t really miss summer all that much in the fall, when the days are shorter, and maybe a little sadder. But they’re also a little softer, a little quieter. I always miss the quiet in summer.

Am I bisexual or do I just think being with a woman would be safer and happier than being with a man, even if I’m not physically attracted to her? She will never have to unlearn misogyny. She will never not understand my emotions. She will not consider me something she is tied down by, a ball and chain, even if I have not been made to love her in the way she deserves. Because she will understand being a woman in a way that a man could never even imagine. We will love each other because we are one in the same, because we will always love in the way that only we can understand. Do I want to be loved, or do I want to be understood? Is it not the same, no matter how you spin it?

I collect the quotes of others like they can make me whole again

Technoblade died a year ago today. I miss him all the time and I can’t watch a video mentioning him without crying. As a fan, it feels silly having this sort of attachment to a content creator because I never knew him and he never knew me, but I miss him dearly anyway. After he passed, I watched an old video in which he detailed his life goals, one of them being a published book author. A dream I share with him. Something I think about every time I think about what I want to do with my life. And even though I hardly have a right, I am still having trouble typing this through the tears in my eyes. I am still trying to live everyday for him. So, thank you Technoblade, for everything. You have inspired me in a way no other content creator ever has. I miss you, and I’m thinking of you, always. Rest easy king. o7

today was my birthday and a lot of things happened but mainly my ex-best friend who i dropped as soon as she was out of my life followed me on insta again and it means so much to me that she remembered my birthday and thought of me today. and i don’t know if there’s a world in which i should except, but the truth is that i love too fully and without restraint, and so of course, in this world i excepted immediately. i miss her more than i would ever care to tell her and she won’t be invited to my wedding but she’ll still get a card in the mail to let her know that it’s taking place.

I worry that one day something beautifully horrific will happen and I won’t know how to handle it. I’m worried I’ll turn to writing. I’m worried I’ll turn to writing with the hope that it will save me but that it won’t. I’m worried that instead, it will drown me in it’s indescribable emptiness. I’m worried it will be so indescribable that I won’t be able to describe it. That I’ll be trapped in a grave of my own making. The writing that was supposed to be my sun will turn into my hubris. I’ll fall like Icarus to the sea and crash with no way to the surface now that my wings are gone and my skin is burned. I’m worried I’ll feel this emptiness and feel guilty I can’t write something deep and profound because I just can’t think but the situation deserves it god damn it what is wrong with me? It shouldn’t be this hard. Just pick up a pen and write god damn it. I’m worried that I’ll be a failure. Maybe this is it. Maybe I can’t write so I’ll never write again and I’ll have to keep these feelings bottled up because I just can’t do it. I can’t write and I deserve it. After everything, I deserve to write. It’s all I have left. This beautifully horrific thing happened and all I have left of what happened is the writings. This can’t be the end. This beautifully horrific thing can’t be the end. I worry that one day something beautifully horrific will happen and all that I will have left of it is the words I can’t put on paper.

Isn’t it beautiful that we’ve been writing about Icarus for centuries? One boy who died faster than he lived. Who tasted more sun than fresh air. (He burned for more than he breathed). The tragedy of one boy who died by Apollo’s breath, not unlike Achilles. How could that boy have died on accident? He laughed as he fell right? Or maybe that is just a happier fantasy we tell. An improved idea over the bitter truth. A boy who died so quick must have laughed as he fell, or else he was just a boy. Just a boy who wanted to fly. Just a boy who could do nothing but fall. Why would this boy want to die? For freedom? To spite the gods? To spite his father? Because he was naïve? Maybe we like to believe he wanted to die. To save us from the pain of what it means if the sun was really just a hubris. Just as Apollo watched Achilles be struck in the heel, but could only watch, if just to keep omnipotence. Maybe Icarus did laugh was he fell. Maybe Icarus is just as mortal as we fear ourselves to be