FaeriesBookworm

One day you'll miss me, when the silence lingers on, but by the time your heart looks back, I'll already be gone.

…in your life, you will sometimes be the glove and sometimes the hand. But on some cold nights, you won’t be able to see your hands at all. On some nights, you might feel like the last person who shook your hand took your hand with them.

"The voices always start small, a poke here, a shove there. A whisper. A shriek. They tell me everything and nothing and anything in between. Some days, they tell me to run to you and jump into your arms. Others, they ask if it's enough. If this life is enough. If you were enough. If I was enough. Enough... what does that even mean? Sufficient? Am I sufficient? No, not for you. Is this existence sufficient for me? No. I haven't seen you in lifetimes. I forget the way the sun shone on your bronze skin. The moonlight hugging your lean frame. The glimmer in your mocha eyes when you looked at me. Lifetimes since I've encountered your scent, since I've heard you sing in my ear. Since I fell asleep in your arms. The voices know that. They push me. Push me to forget even further. Push me to forget your name. The way it rolls off my tongue, the way the syllables caress my larynx. I haven't spoken it in so long I worry the memories will wash away if I utter the letters together. If what's crawling up my throat escapes my lips...will it wash away? Will you be out of my system?"

“The original void is amorphous, sterile, homogeneous, symmetrical. It is perfect. No reality can emerge there. It is absolute illusion. This symmetry has to be broken if a law-governed materiality is to establish itself — an imperfection, in which real bodies emerge (but where can such an imperfection possibly come from? What sets off breakings of symmetry?). Of that imperfection, we — human beings — are the trace, since perfection is of the order of the inhuman. We are also, however, the heirs of the Void, of the Nothing, of that primal scene of absence, that perfectly indecipherable and enigmatic state of the Universe — a situation which will never be compensated for by the real and the hegemony of the real. We are the heirs both to symmetry and to breakings of symmetry, and our imperfection is as radical as the radical illusion of the Void can be.”

i wish i could explain how tired i am without sounding dramatic

“Why am I so afraid to lose you, when you aren’t even mine.”