… In That Night Alive With Signs And Stars, I Opened Myself To The Gentle Indifference Of The World
… in that night alive with signs and stars, I opened myself to the gentle indifference of the world
More Posts from Stellareqm and Others
To be alive is to dance on the edge of oblivion, to feel the weight of existence pressing down upon us, even as we reach for the stars.
my body is tired.
my mind is cruel.
i don’t know which one will win.
Me, after another night of drafting, editing, writing, editing, editing again, some more editing
nevermind *deletes the whole thing*
Sylvia Plath, aged 30, in a letter to Olive Higgins Prouty, her mentor & benefactress, 4 months after discovering her husband's infidelity, and their subsequent separation (dated Tuesday, 20 November 1962)
maybe i like this rollercoaster, maybe it keeps me high
i’m tired. but not just “didn’t sleep” tired. soul tired. bone tired. like my body keeps going but nothing inside knows why.
I desire nothing. Truly. My gut burns with lust for nothingness in its purest form.
— ( @songs-of-venus )
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𝚍𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚎𝚍𝚐𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚋𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚜, 𝚋𝚛𝚘𝚔𝚎𝚗 𝚐𝚒𝚛𝚕𝚜, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚌 𝚛𝚞𝚒𝚗𝚜
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