vi.writes

reading a hefty amount of books this year is a big help for my soul. the only time i wanted to be lost and and disconnected to the world is when i am in deep with poetry and fiction. i do get a lot of ideas out of it and sometimes i think it might be my "drug"; the thing that keeps tells me to stay (if that makes sense), the thing that keeps me away from hurting myself physically.

today, i am lost. lost in between the cracks of writing and believing. lost within the non existing crowd that is still sleeping. reading my poetry, my words, that i some day, believe will reach the stars and not only my limited ceiling.

as i continue to write this, the heavier my chest feels. i wanted to be found.

"lost is a lovely place to find yourself" - michael faudet

ARIANA GRANDE

Here’s my piece for the @in-love-with-my-car-zine! A zine celebrating all the vehicles of Good Omens!

@hecklefreckled Figured you might wanna see this lol

I thought the earth remembered me, she took me back so tenderly, arranging her dark skirts, her pockets full of lichens and seeds. I slept as never before, a stone on the riverbed, nothing between me and the white fire of the stars but my thoughts, and they floated light as moths among the branches of the perfect trees. All night I heard the small kingdoms breathing around me, the insects, and the birds who do their work in the darkness. All night I rose and fell, as if in water, grappling with a luminous doom. By morning I had vanished at least a dozen times into something better.

James Baldwin, from If Beale Street Could Talk Florence and the Machine, from Various Storms & Saints Simone de Beauvoir, from a letter to Jean-Paul Sartre Fernando Pessoa, from The Book of Disquiet