zo

Bunn: [to Tan] It's people like you that give people like you a bad name.

I was just thinking about people as safety. how some people bring us a sense of comfort and of being protected just by existing. how when I'm standing somewhere and I feel overwhelmed, but then I see my sister there, just existing, and it brings me a grounding sense of comfort and security— like if she's there, I am untouchable, I am safe, I am protected, I'm with her and she's going to keep me safe. how my mama's presence feels like home, no matter where we are, it's like if she's there, I'll be there too and I'll be okay— nothing will go wrong with my mother next to me, her presence is all I need to jump headfirst into everything, take on the whole world. and how my baba next to me feels like a solid wall of unrelenting protection, that him being there with me means that I have an unbreakable, impenetrable shield— that with him, I am the safest I can be, I am sheltered and loved and I will be okay, nothing can happen to me, he won't let it. people who you love who turn into safe spaces for you are so important, they're the people who will make you feel like literal hell can be a walk in the park if they're with you. grateful for the three such people I have in my life— today, tomorrow, forevermore.

the heaviness of being human is enough to kill a person twice over.

the thing about mortality is that one day, eventually all of it will cease to matter. all the bad things; all the pain, all the sorrow, all the worries, all the stresses, and all the good things too; joy, happiness, relief, love— all of it. eventually, it will mean nothing to you. this could either mean death or a certain level of unabridged aloofness; a time when the heaviest parts of being human will be reduced to nothing but the plainest parts of being a part of the universe. that's the most messed up thing about being mortal; it all ends eventually.