wolf

⭒Grimoire inspo for my unmotivated witches⭒

They say the first year is the hardest. If you and your partner can make it through the first year, then you’re golden. I think that’s bullshit. The first year is hard because it’s all new and you’re clueless and all of the things you ignored about your partner before the baby, is finally piling up and you can’t seem to let it slide like you used to. You have to relearn things about your partner and it gets very real very quickly because before the baby, it wasn’t “that big of a deal” when you seemed to always be the one cooking and cleaning and trying to keep the house tidy. But now you don’t sleep anymore and the house is always messy. And they don’t help. With any of it. You can ask for help sure, but you’re probably going to cause a fight because they work so you can stay home. The first year is a lot of asking yourself if you can live like that for the next 18+ years. It’s a lot of trying to communicate that that shit won’t fly without hurting your partners feelings. It’s a lot of loneliness and feeling like you’re doing it all alone because god forbid your partner lifts a finger to help keep on top of things and on the off chance they do (usually to prove a point) you’re the bad guy for not showering them with praise.

“i am hard to love.

I don’t think I’ll ever forget you. But when I think of you, I won’t be remembering you as love, because you were far from it. I’ll remember you as my biggest heartbreak. You were a maybe. An almost. You were my dream that came to life, but for it to last was too good to be true. And to this day, I don’t think there’s anything more tragic that’s happened to me.

“What’s the worst thing I’ve stolen? Probably little pieces of other people’s lives. Where I’ve either wasted their time or hurt them in some way. That’s the worst thing you can steal, the time of other people. You just can’t get that back.”

“I can’t promise to be your friend, but I can promise to pick up your calls at 2 A.M when you need my voice until you sleep because it helps you (at least until you find someone new). When your sister calls me and asks me how I’m doing and your mother tells me she misses me, I promise to sincerely say I miss them too, because I do. On the day you marry the girl who steals your heart and make you laugh the hardest since I left, I will be there and sit like everyone else as the two of you share a kiss. And I promise to hug you, and it will linger, because we stand on the day we always talked with such hope, those mindless daydreams of the future, but never think it’ll turn out like this. We will share a look when we part ways, or perhaps one of us will look while the other turns the other way, that otherwise can’t be said, or translated into words. I can’t promise to be your anything, because only we know what we mean to each other, yet in the infinite space of my heart you’ll always be a constant star, even if you’re no longer the center of my world.”

“Someone once asked me what depression feels like. I said ‘like a slower way of being dead’ and I know it doesn’t make any sense but that’s just the way it is. laying in bed, unable to move even though there is nothing physically wrong with you doesn’t make much sense either. A family member once asked me why at my age I didn’t have a job. I said ‘i’m sick’ and they said 'being sad isn’t the same as being sick’ and, yeah, they’re right. being sad ISN’T the same as being sick. i can’t call in sad to work, or to school, or to anywhere else for that matter without being accused of throwing a self-pity party to which the only attendees are me and my sadness which is constantly being invalidated by those who don’t understand it, including me, because I don’t understand my sadness either. it’s difficult to admit this but the ugly truth is i have been sad for so long that I no longer remember what it’s like not be. kind of like when you have a cold and can’t breathe through your nose but instead of not being able to breathe through your nose, you can’t breathe AT ALL and all you can do is wait to suffocate while the people around you ask you what’s wrong but you can’t tell them because it wouldn’t make any sense. It never makes any sense.”

some more

“In films, we are voyeurs, but in novels, we have the experience of being someone else: knowing another person’s soul from the inside. No other art form does that. And this is why sometimes, when we put down a book, we find ourselves slightly altered as human beings. Novels change us from within.”