Healing Involves A Lot More Grieving Than You’d Expect. Progress Hurts. You’re Moving On From Things

Left Munich at 8:35 P. M., on 1st May, arriving at Vienna early next morning; should have arrived at 6:46, but train was an hour late.

Me last year: 6:46 is… very precise, buddy.

Me this year:

something that really hits me is the way neil reads the opening poem by thoreau at the very first dps meeting. the way after he finishes reading the poem he takes a moment to himself in order to take in what he’s just read. you can tell that these words genuinely mean something to him and that he really resonates with them. i think it’s in that moment that he fully understands what keating means by carpe diem. especially the last line “and not, when i came to die, discover that i had not lived.” it’s so beautiful and heartbreaking at the same time

Cogito, Ergo Sum

I write ugly things.

That’s who I am.

I expel the bad onto paper.

Otherwise it gets stuck in me. Emotional constipation.

That’s probably why people hurt each other.

They need to get rid of it. The ache.

Can’t keep it in. Easiest way to get rid of hurt is to pass it onto someone else.

Most readers like it though. The hurt.

Look at Bukowski and Hemingway. They’re successful. Apart from the alcoholism and suicide.

I don’t understand them all that well.

You’re too young to understand, they tell me.

I don’t know about that.

I think I just don’t understand men who create their own suffering.

I’ve had enough pain. Disease and dead friends and all that.

Good thing for a writer though. To suffer.

Suffering brings validity to narrative.

I hate that.

I hate that perspective only matters if the writer has gone through something horrible.

Suffering adds to character. Solidifies it.

I also hate that.

Identity should not be so fickle.

It should be made of curiosity, interests, relationships, passion, and peace.

It should be made, fostered, cared for.

Not victimized.

But maybe that’s just the way we are.

We must rot so that others will salvage our blossoms.

We must dish out counterfeit pain to remember we are alive.

Mortal.

Look at me, you say, beaten red.

I bleed therefore I am.

Creative writing inspired by this painting ^^ __________________________________

The creature was beautiful. The way it flew around the mountain tops was more majestic than anything the explorer had ever seen It’s pearl white scales seemed to shimmer in the moon light, and the stars were reflected clearly in its violet eyes, a feat that was visible even from the ground. The sight was mesmerising. The creature flew around the mountain tops looking like it hadn’t a care in the world, so unlike the people back at his home village. If it wasn’t for those people, the traveller wouldn’t have found this marvellous thing. Before, there had been no knowledge of this beast, but then one day, when the traveller was about ten years of age, a rumour spread about this beast with sapphire eyes, massive claws that could rip you to shreds in one blow, and a beast that could breathe blue fire. Those rumours spread quickly, but the traveller knew that the description was false, and so he set his life to find this creature, and now that he had, he knew that the rumours were false, and that this beast was one of cruelty and not one of cruelty. Oh, how he wished to go back and tell them how wrong they had been. But now, as he stood at the bottom of one of the mountains, the beast clashed eyes with him, and he knew he was ready to go to the next life. Maybe there will be more adventures awaiting me there, he thought as he laid down and floated into oblivion, content with how his life had turned out.

texting sucks, let’s have deep conversations and roll on grass instead

We have always loved and we will continue to love. Oh, the beauty of human connection!

“imagine caring so much about fiction” imagine being so lame that you scoff at the timeless human practice of falling in love with art and stories

He’s alive and well in my mind

zlibrary gone... FUCK TIKTOK FUCK BOOKTOK I hope that app burns in hell

You watch him walk away, still waiting for him to turn around and say this was all a joke. That he still loves you. That he still wants you. But he keeps walking. Step after step, another kick to your shattered heart. You were going to break down in the middle of this whole room. The tears blur your eyes until you can’t see the gaping faces around you. Everything hurts. Is this what death felt like? Nothing seems to function like it’s supposed to anymore and your knees give out. Strong hands suddenly take a hold of you, supporting all your weight and bringing shivers to your skin. You’re not sure what pathetic noise you make because suddenly his lips are at your ear whispering “shhh angel, you’re ok. I’ve got you. I’m going to lead you outside now.” The familiar voice shocks you enough to look up and you see your enemy look down at you with a suspiciously gentle look. Too tired and broken to care, you let him move you until you feel him sit down and pull you into his lap, cradling you.  You weren’t sure if this was some cruel joke for him but you figure there’s nothing left of you for him to break. So, you sit there with him, face buried in his neck, devastation tearing through your soul. “I’ll kill him for hurting you.” Surprised, you lift your head to see if he’s joking, but all you find is fire and dark promise in his eyes, one that shouldn’t reassure you so much but does anyways. His thumb comes up to swipe your tears and he leans forward to press a soft kiss on your brow. “Don’t waste your tears on him, Angel. He doesn’t deserve them. Let alone your heart.” You let out a broken laugh and whisper, voice cracking, “well its too fucking late for that isn’t it. I gave it to him and he caged it. Ruined it.” A flicker of wrath crossed his face, a look that could bring gods to their knees. “I’ll steal it back for you my love,” he replied so softly that you barely heard him. “I’ll steal it back for you and then rip his out of his chest for every time he clipped your beautiful angel wings.” Kissing my tear-stained cheek, he tells me, “You’re free now baby. Free for me to take.” Your eyes widen at his last statement and terror shoots through you as you start to feel drowsy. The last thing you see before slipping into oblivion is his cunning smirk and cold eyes.