This is the post I want you all to spread as much as you can. Do anything but I want it to be seen as much as possible. I don't care for any of my other posts as much as for this one. IF I DIE I WANT THIS POST TO BE SEEN. I WANT THE WORLD TO HEAR.
This is the memory of a 16 year old girl Katya from Mariupol. I translated it to English and I cried while translating. Please read this. Don't scroll. Don't be ignorant and indifferent.
Do you know the feeling of pain? Once I fell in love with a boy but he didn't love me back, and I thought that it was painful. Turned out that the real pain is to see your mother dying with your own eyes. And to see your brother coming to her again and again, asking her: "Mommy, please, don't sleep, you'll freeze". And we'll never visit her grave. She got left in the cold and dark basement.
We peed, slept and ate our last portions of food in the same basement.
Once uncle Kolya caught a pigeon, I think on the fifth or sixth day, and we fried it and we ate it. And then we all puked.
I told my brother that she's sleeping deeply and that we shouldn't wake her up. But, I think, he understood everything. He understood back then when our lady neighbor died and we couldn't put her outside and she started smelling. And then it became quiet for awhile, uncle Kolya put her outside and got blown up by a hidden grenade (my note, this word "rastyajka" means a grenade with a string attached to it, not a stray bomb. It was put to kill civilians coming out from the basements). Mom cried a lot. After Dad's death, uncle Kolya was the closest person to us.
They were everywhere. I closed my brother's eyes with Mom's scarf so he didn't have to see it. When we were running I almost threw up several times.
If he existed, we wouldn't have had to suffer so much. My Mother never, you hear me, NEVER did anything bad. She never even left uncle Kolya in another room until she got married. She went to church and confessed often, and so did I. Uncle Kolya gave up smoking so Mom wouldn't worry about him sinning. And your god took her away. The pastor told me something about her helping god there, but it would be so much better for her to help god here, by bringing us up.
I hate them! It was his own sister?! How possibly can a person do this???
You know what? I think I'm going to come back to Mariupol. And I'm gonna live on the same place as before. And everyday come into the basement of the new building to put flowers.
It's also scary when the kids cry when it's forbidden. It's forbidden because we needed to not be heard.
I don't want to live anymore. We may be separated now, I suppose. I may not ever see my brother again. And why? Why did this putin "save" us? We lived so well, we even bought a car. Uncle Kolya promised to teach me how to drive. And they even burned the car. And our flat is no more. I want to die and I can't.
***
This is it. Now it's time for you to do your part. Do a tag game, tag all your mutuals, do EVERYTHING BECAUSE THIS SHIT IS IMPORTANT. THIS IS MY HONEST HUMAN SCREAM TO YOU AND I SCREAM TO YOU TO SPREAD THIS MEMORY. THIS IS THE ONLY THING THAT MATTERS, NOT OSCARS, NOT MEMES, NOT EVERYDAY LIFE. EVERY DAY OF WAR, EVERY DAY WE DON'T GET OUR VICTORY IS THE DAY WE LOST MORE OF OUR INNOCENT PEOPLE. MAKE A GODDAMN CHANGE, PEOPLE!!!
Yours truly
I dream and I dream and I dream.
His pillow was wet with salty tears and his eyes were swollen from crying as he woke up. His chapped lips stung with the taste of saltwater. Diana called him.
“What time is it,” he asked, his voice cracking. He hoped she would think he was just tired. She did not.
“It’s just about 8 o’clock. What’s wrong?”
He didn’t say anything but simply hung up. He walked to the South Meadow again, slower than last time. He did not see Theo next to him. After a few minutes sitting at the bench next to the field, he heard a voice behind him.
“You’ll be late to chapel,” it said quietly, worried. Theo popped up in front of him. He tried his best to smile. Theo did not mask the concerned expression on his own face. He noticed a stray tear right under Alexander’s eye, and knelt down to wipe it away. The feeling of his hand on Alexander’s face made his skin tingle. He started to smile honestly. Theo sat down next to him quietly.
It started to rain, and Theo stood up from the bench.
“We’ll be late,” he repeated simply. Alexander walked behind him to chapel.
Alexander’s golden hair shone in the glass sunlight, a moment so perfect it seemed it could fracture at the smallest breath. His eyes looked like green crystals, flicks of blue emerging in the sun.
Alexander didn’t notice this, but Theo did, gazing up at the window. He looked back down at his tattered copy of the Iliad, wondering what book Alexander was reading. The sun was setting, making the world look like a haze of pink and purple. Theo looked at the cotton candy clouds, unaware that Alexander was looking right down at him, sitting on the bench next to the road. Alexander closed his book, Jane Austen’s Emma, and smiled a little half-smile, looking at the way the orange sky reflected off of Theo’s eyes. Those eyes flicked to his, Alexander turning away a few seconds too late, the grin disappearing from his face. Theo’s smile, on the other hand, only widened. Alexander chided himself for his incompetence and looked over at the door of his room, still seeing those gilded curls. He blinked quickly, trying to get them out of his vision. He looked back down at the sidewalk; the boy had gone from the wooden bench. He forced himself to look back at his book.
sometimes i read a phrase in a poem or a story or i see the clouds amble in the sky traced by sunlight or i hear a specific combination of notes on a piano and i just get so overwhelmed with a really specific feeling that i can't really name but i know that this feeling is so human and so tender at its core and that i am a tiny little part of a world so delightfully rich with sensations and i exist to experience this very feeling because it stems from the pure human love for coexistence with the world
ancient greek word of the day: πολυνιφής (polyniphēs), deep with snow
Eyes of flowing honey,
eyes of swirling ocean.
Is there really so much of a difference?
Both marred with scars,
painfully etched in over the years by family and friends and society itself.
A father filled with rage,
a mother who never wanted her.
One desperate to fit in with American society and one forever distancing herself from it.
One knowing nothing about himself and the other knowing everything about the both of them.
Yet, when their eyes meet all the scars seem to smooth over,
the raging sea calms,
the honey travels far from the fearsome bees of its past.
And, when they are inevitably torn apart?
thinking about how orpheus turning to look back at eurydice isn’t a sign of mortal frailness but a sign of love
06.18.22
headed to visit friends for the long weekend ,, i always have such a hard time convincing myself to go places when i get in a routine w school or work, but you gotta take advantage of the time you have ig
🎧: the door is closing - spirit of the beehive
carpe noctem