The Year Of Blue Water, Yanyi.

“The truth is, unless you let go, unless you forgive yourself, unless you forgive the situation, unless you realize that the situation is over, you cannot move forward.”

— Steve Maraboli

L. A. Johnson, from "Birthmark"

i love tumblr because sometimes i get an urge to rb posts about something nobody likes and everyone just politely ignores me. everyone's like oh he's fallen into madness again, he'll be fine later i guess

Again with the “can’t.”

I have to remember how much it hurt. I can't make that same mistake again.

“I want you to do this with me for one month. One month. Write 10 observations a week and by the end of four weeks, you will have an answer. Because when someone writes about the rustic gutter and the water pouring through it onto the muddy grass, the real pours into the room. And it’s thrilling. We’re all enlivened by it. We don’t have to find more than the rustic gutter and the muddy grass and the pouring cold water.”

— Marie Howe, Boston University’s 2016 Theopoetics Conference  (via mothersofmyheart)

somedays my heart feels so close to the surface like it wants to take me somewhere and is tired of the limitations of my body, of my feet always walking in the wrong direction. this isn’t really an original thought. i have told you this before. someone almost loved me and they come to me in dreams even now but i punish my daytime mind for any thoughts of soccer or duvet covers or carrot cake and i never think about him except when it is dark out and i am in the backseat of the car and no one can see the alternate life passing through me, the one where he laughs forever and i press my ear as close as i can because i am tired of the limitations of my body. someday things will be different. the losses will fall off of me like particles from another world, landing on a small unsuspecting planet. i will garden and have at least one big window where i can see the sky and have the good sense to look. but today i asked God to empty my heart of whatever wasn’t meant for it and he is still in there somewhere, occupying a small space in a big way. if i let myself reach out to touch it then i would probably find out that there’s small space inside of him too that flinches when he looks at the moon. of course it doesn’t help to know that. it doesn’t help to know that the dark sky is a cauldron we both sit in to punish ourselves for the life we didn’t have.

something else i've been thinking about lately is how much more alive houses are to people who experience domestic abuse. some things in the house are protectors - the door to your room that swings shut behind you without you pushing it, the stairs that always creak loud enough to let you know that someone's coming before they get there... whereas other things are alive with malice - the cabinets that slam and the dishes that break, the vacuum cleaner that always manages to sound angry and accusing. the whole house listens, and the whole house remembers, and everything takes sides.

Miller's Girl (2024)

Devin Kelly, from “All the Other Dogs Screaming”