ink spilled thoughts

Two forces have pulled at me my whole life, often in opposite directions: the desire to be known completely, and the terror of exactly that.

May the heavy nights

Come to me whenever your heart desires, exactly as you are.

And this urge to run away from what I love is a sort of sadism I no longer pretend to understand.

The humiliation I go through when I think of my past can only be described as grace. We are created by being destroyed.

having aphantasia and trying to paint your character that you have only ever described via words (because that's how you see) and you try and paint the scene the pivotal scene of two characters who are fated for mutually assured destruction finally meeting and the words can't be translated into visuals because you have aphantasia but you're trying to paint a character that -

Wait fuck, I just realized my aphantasia is why I can't remember anything, there nothing visually to see. I can't see my memories, I just know in some way I've done or seen something.