But i am no longer that woman, darling.

I am no longer your garden where you can harvest sweet alyssum and lilies. My skin no longer feels like innocence and roses like you used to know. I am different now, you see, I am now an evergrowing forest and tangled coppices and lathed soil. And if you’re coming back with the condition of confining me into what you were familiar with, then fuck it, I‘m no longer yours.

—i never was (r.s.)

“i want to exude a specific type of femininity—you know, that type when all people, even my worst enemies, would like to cling to me because of my softness and warmth;

although at the same time, i want them to be vaguely terrified.”

You shouldn’t let go of things you already have just because of greed—not all things would stay with you forever.

Oh sweetling, you should have known better.

In your conquest for honey dew you just got something bittersweet—you’ve lost people who are willing to die for you.

- a.r., of unfaithfulness and uncertainties

there is felicity in accepting the journey of becoming—of being flayed and liberated from the idea of being flawed. it is comforting, i must say, to not be domesticated by the society, for your body is your home.