Once again I have added not eating to the list of ways I deal
with the burden of being alive. I feel too old for this.
I have this strange solidarity with my seventh grade self.
The way she lived on green apples and coffee for six months
and her mother never noticed.
The friends I live with now say nothing when I do not eat.
When I carefully measure out my 600 calories a day
and half of them are wine. It is not their responsibility
to take care of me. It is my own. But lately,
I’m doing a terrible job.
Lately I’ve been looking at my body like it belongs
to someone else. Watching it slowly shrink like the crowd
at a party that that has gone too late. My stomach
has been an enemy my entire life. I miss her now that she’s gone.
She is a conquered enemy. A vanquished foe.
I did not want to win. Not like this.
"It’s hard to hide your feelings, when they’re rolling down your face."
william chapman (via williamchapmanwritings)
"The worst distance between two people is misunderstanding."
The kiss of death.
This astonishing sculpture forms part of Barcelona’s Poblenou Cemetery. The Kiss of Death (El Petó de la Mort in Catalan and El beso de la muerte in Spanish) dates back to 1930. A winged skeleton bestows a kiss on the lips of a handsome young man: is it ecstasy on his face or resignation? Little wonder the sculpture elicits strong and varying responses from whoever gazes upon it.
"Nobody will ever hurt her. She’ll just smile her faint vague wonderful smile and walk away."
Neil Gaiman Fragile Things (via khalishh)
drinking honey. every day. for every meal.
all this sweetness
eases my blood from missing you, madiba."
coping (grief poems), nayyirah waheed (via nayyirahwaheed)
"I want to be
the first thing you touch in the morning,
and the last thing you taste at night."