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🧊
i miss hunger, to be hungry, to feed at the detriment of whatever was around me
it’s futility, yes, but also it’s peace within itself- and… it’s intention. i miss the passion, the necessity, the necessity to be condemned by your own satisfaction, to be cognizant, to be aware, to be sacred and secular simultaneously- to take joy in something so human but something so alien
my cup runneth over and i’m crying over spilt milk as if it wont cease to pour and pour and pour
Feb 27, 2025
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🌫Close and perpetual. Intimate like pleasure, necessary like pain. Its pretty face hides its stench. My nose is vestigial anyway. The only sensation I need is taste and its touch. When it does that I feel it inside me, moving and hurting. Completely filling but stretching and growing me. Extending me like force to a door. It builds upon me and it is now requisite. I am drained without it but now with it I am all. I am the vacuum. so now I lay with only it allowed upon me, as I let its smooth flowy body run across me and around me and eventually into me. Where I am its liberty manifest now. It can show me its face, or its body. Or it can take or give. I allow, as its heights are beautiful and profound, where I find prowess. I will let it again. And as it feeds me, I remember the next time it will. And just before I do, I forget it’s last. With it I am content as satisfaction can bring, but insatiable with it as my desire.
5d ago
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There's few things that humans can't live without
Food
Water
Oxygen
Yet there are also things that we ingrained in ourselves we cannot live without; internet, the trip for coffee every morning, trinkets and charms. For me, besides falsies and Sonny Angels, it's having a person; having security, someone to catch me if I fall, a person to help me when I'm stuck in a hole.
I find that when I am with him that none of my time is wasted spent loving him.
I miss him terribly.
My bed still smells like him, his gifts are scattered around my room, he is a prisoner in my thoughts that I have no intention of letting go. I miss his warmth, his smell, his voice, absolutely everything.
He makes me want to be better, for him, for others, for myself. He's taught me to see beauty in things and those around me and in turn helping me love and see the beauty in myself.
He makes me nervous but in a good way. Every touch, promise, compliment still gives me butterflies so much so they may as well reside within me. Its a feeling I will continue to chase as my bones weaken, my skin wrinkles, and my hair matches the moon. I've never known stability until he entered my life.
He is a theif of my heart, slipping in with a smile and stealing every beat before I even knew they were his to take. He has poured love into places that were once empty, never leaving me parched.
Rec
😃Such a shame
so much love lost to entropy
Who’s to blame
for the high cost of a memory?
What remains
when the tides wash our energy?
Recycled lust
must be just fine for us to glean
I can’t afford what I’ve left behind
I ruminate on love lost — or rather dispersed For I have so much to give you But no mouth to find the words.
I ruminate on love lost — or rather dispersed For I have so much to give you But no mouth to find the words.
May 4, 2025
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I've been told that people in the army do more by 7:00 AM
than I do in an entire day, but if I wake at 6:59 AM and turn to you to trace the outline of your lips with mine, I will have done enough and killed no one in the process.
- 6:59 AM by Shane Koyczan
we take love for granted, and i do more than anyone. i find it so beautiful that there is one pair of flesh and bones and eyes and a mouth that truly do belong at the top of the hierarchy. she is perfection and love in itself, and i remind myself that to be stagnant to unproductive may never be my fate if my day is long spent loving her.
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i forgot my headphones at home. i was about to either
1) pump black country new road
2) watch brooklyn 99.
i miss being passionate about things, not being able to sleep, eat, speak, or fathom anything beyond the apple of my eye and the fruit of my thoughts.
i miss waking up with one thing in mind, how i would explore it that day, and how i would explore it the next
it’s been people it’s been sewing guitar driving religion philosophy photography writing filming blogging
i think, regardless of any tik tok data explosion with the intention of ripping out each of my brain cells to keep me submissive and docile because of a wrecked attention span, i’m not a girl of her commitments- i get bored.
and i am bored. i feel this lack of passion so deeply in my body, its been a catalyst for the recent crashouts ive had ( and there’s been plenty) i don’t know how to stay, and work hard, and allow myself to grow to what i want to be right in this instance. not to shine my own shoes, but i’m not super used to being bad at things. i’ve always always always coasted, and now that im trying to be a gaf (give a fuck) filled girl, ive realized, sucking at something hurts a lot more when you’ve put in the work to be good at it.
if it wasn’t me writing this, and my best friend called me and told me this word for word, i would tell her how normal that feeling was, and that she herself knew what to do; commit. and that is my advice, dear sweet amalia, commit, commit, commit.
i miss being passionate about things, not being able to sleep, eat, speak, or fathom anything beyond the apple of my eye and the fruit of my thoughts.
i miss waking up with one thing in mind, how i would explore it that day, and how i would explore it the next
it’s been people it’s been sewing guitar driving religion philosophy photography writing filming blogging
i think, regardless of any tik tok data explosion with the intention of ripping out each of my brain cells to keep me submissive and docile because of a wrecked attention span, i’m not a girl of her commitments- i get bored.
and i am bored. i feel this lack of passion so deeply in my body, its been a catalyst for the recent crashouts ive had ( and there’s been plenty) i don’t know how to stay, and work hard, and allow myself to grow to what i want to be right in this instance. not to shine my own shoes, but i’m not super used to being bad at things. i’ve always always always coasted, and now that im trying to be a gaf (give a fuck) filled girl, ive realized, sucking at something hurts a lot more when you’ve put in the work to be good at it.
if it wasn’t me writing this, and my best friend called me and told me this word for word, i would tell her how normal that feeling was, and that she herself knew what to do; commit. and that is my advice, dear sweet amalia, commit, commit, commit.