basorexia*

Status: I'm the chipped nail polish people mistaken as crackle on your thumb.
Joined: December 24, 2013
Last Seen: 1 year
user id: 376671
Location: in your nightmares
Gender: F
Relax, darling. I've been coming out of my cage, and frankly, I've been doing just fine. ;)

basorexia*'s Favorite Quotes

11:59 PM

you left a tsunami in my lungs.
it feels as if i'm drowning every day,
and I'm left to pick up the pieces
of a mess you made.
after the storm there's always a rainbow,
but you stole that from me.
instead, i get flowers growing
in the darkest parts of me,
which is more beautiful than
any rainbow could ever compare to.
you left a tsunami in my lungs.
and quite frankly,
i don't think that's a bad thing
anymore,
I love that word. Forever. I love that forever doesn’t exist, but we have a word for it anyway, and use it all the time. It’s beautiful and doomed.

20 minutes ago I stopped myself from walking off a platform in front of an incoming train and 15 minutes ago I started texting my friends and 14 minutes ago I gave up on asking for their help amd 14 minutes ago I started crying alone in a train station and 8 minutes ago I started walking home and 20 minutes ago I didn't die but 6 minutes ago I realised I still wanted to.



I’m going to tell you something: thoughts are never honest. Emotions are. Do not go around asking for honesty in what people think; much of what they perceive as thinking is empty anyway because it’s thought out again and again and comes out refined and muddy. The ones who know how to feel might have to say to you a couple of interesting things or not and when they do that, you ought to know how to listen. So learn how to listen. You can’t make someone open up about their feelings in case they don’t want to. But you can remain open yourself through listening deeply and completely; they might want to talk about the weather and keep it simple — allow them to feel the simplicity…Emotion pours out directly or indirectly each time people engage themselves in the process of genuine interaction.

—Albert Camus

 

You are not the only one who feels this way,
who walks with tender steps, too afraid to be led
down a path that will take you farther from home.

But home is not one place, never has been.

Home is everywhere your feet have wandered,
every place where you have laughed or drank or slept
or kissed. Home is in the faces of the ones you love.
Home is the hearts beating in their chests, calling for you
to return again. Home is wherever you claim it as your own.

And so you are never lost, just wandering. Finding, rediscovering,
claiming all the places you now belong. And always will.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.

Write, for example, ‘The night is shattered
and the blue stars shiver in the distance.’

The night wind revolves in the sky and sings.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

Through nights like this one I held her in my arms
I kissed her again and again under the endless sky.

She loved me sometimes, and I loved her too.
How could one not have loved her great still eyes.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her.

To hear the immense night, still more immense without her.
And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture.

What does it matter that my love could not keep her.
The night is shattered and she is not with me.

This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance.
My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

My sight searches for her as though to go to her.
My heart looks for her, and she is not with me.

The same night whitening the same trees.
We, of that time, are no longer the same.

I no longer love her, that's certain, but how I loved her.
My voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing.

Another's. She will be another's. Like my kisses before.
Her voide. Her bright body. Her infinite eyes.

I no longer love her, that's certain, but maybe I love her.
Love is so short, forgetting is so long.

Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms
my soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer
and these the last verses that I write for her.

—Pablo Neruda, Tonight I Can Write the Saddest Lines
















Solivagant

(Adj.) wandering alone



















 

sometimes we wish to sleep so we can forget. and sometimes, we wish to forget so we can sleep.
NOBODY IS GOING TO MAKE ME GIDDY ABOUT THE MOON. NOBODY IS GOING TO MAKE THE STARS LOOK A LITTLE BRIGHTER. THE MOON WILL BE JUST THE MOON. AND THE STARS WILL BE FARTHER THAN EVER. AND OUTERSPACE WILL BE THE PLACE I LONG TO BE, JUST ORBITING BY MYSELF. AND WHEN I LOOK DOWN AND SEE THE EARTH, IT WILL BE JUST THE EARTH. I WILL NOT ROMANTICZE THE ROBIN EGG OCEANS,THE ICE CAPPED MOUNTAINS, OR THE EMERALD FORESTS. I WILL JUST RECOGNIZE IT AS A PLACE I DID NOT BELONG; A PLACE I DID NOT WANT TO BELONG. YOU SEE, OCEANS ARE VASTS, MOUNTAINS ARE ROCKY, AND IN THE FORESTS THERE ARE WILD BEASTS. SOME PEOPLE ARE NOT MEANT TO BE ADVENTURERS. SOME PEOPLE ARE MEANT TO JUST OBSERVE; JUST MEANT TO ORBIT. I KNOW MY SOFT, PINK HANDS WILL NEVER BE JAGGED AND I KNOW MY STRAWBERRY MOUTH WILL NEVER CUT ANYTHING. MAYBE THIS WAY MY GOLD EYES WILL NEVER WEEP, BUT THEY WILL CONTINUE TO PERCEIVE FROM A FAR.

I have a need of silence and of stars;
Too much is said too loudly; I am dazed.
The silken sound of whirled infinity
Is lost in voices shouting to be heard.

I once knew men as earnest and less shrill.
An undermeaning that I caught I miss
Among these ears that hear all sounds save silence,
These eyes that see so much but not the sky,
These minds that gain all knowledge but no calm.

If suddenly the desperate music ceased,
Could they return to life? or would they stand
In dancers' attitudes, puzzled, polite,
And striking vaguely hand on tired hand
For an encore, to fill the ghastly pause?

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