stellareqm

Latest Posts by stellareqm

“You hold flaws so beautiful, even perfection aches with envy.

No. It aches with desire.

A sickening, damning desire,

That secretly slips to the soles of your feet to devour you whole.”

—— by CarpeVenus (@songs-of-venus)

My toxic trait is that I made Daphne du Maurier my personality in school instead of Jane Austen

I would rather die in your arms than live a thousand years alone.

Look like the innocent flower,

but be the serpent under it

i don’t want to look cute and coquette, i want to look like a ghost haunting you until your last breath.

faded memory

There is something to be said about the way in which a memory fades - like ink in water, rippling until it is no longer there.

It fades with the finality of a written ending, in way it leaves no room for further discussion; it simply vanishes.

And like ink in water, it is hard to catch before it leaves completely. It simply stains other memories, giving a gray veil

that wasn't there before. But its echo - that noise it made while it lived, forever remains in your brain.

~ Ely C. Winters.

𝑇h𝑖s i𝑠 𝑚y l𝑎s𝑡 𝑙o𝑣e l𝑒t𝑡e𝑟 𝑡o y𝑜u, 𝑡h𝑜u𝑔h s𝑜m𝑒 𝑤o𝑢l𝑑 𝑐a𝑙l i𝑡 𝑎 𝑐o𝑛f𝑒s𝑠i𝑜n.

I s𝑢p𝑝o𝑠e b𝑜tℎ 𝑎r𝑒 𝑎 𝑠o𝑟t o𝑓 𝑔e𝑛t𝑙e v𝑖o𝑙e𝑛c𝑒, p𝑢t𝑡i𝑛g d𝑜w𝑛 𝑖n i𝑛k wℎa𝑡 𝑠c𝑜r𝑐h𝑒s tℎe a𝑖r wℎe𝑛 𝑠p𝑜k𝑒n a𝑙o𝑢d.

A Dowry of Blood, S.T. Gibson

I need a hug.

Fuck I need more than that

I need rope to tie me so tightly the pieces will stay together

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.

You’ve waited far too long

for someone to color your heart with tenderness,

to hang love like art on the bare walls of your soul.

But time slipped through like candlelight,

and in the quiet,

dust gathered where laughter should’ve lived,

cobwebs clung to dreams left untouched.

Still, you wait—

romantic, patient, aching—

a heart dressed in longing,

hoping love will one day come

and call this place home.

You who never arrived

Rainer Maria Rilke

Translated by Stephen Mitchell

You who never arrived in my arms, Beloved, who were lost

from the start, I don’t even know what songs

would please you. I have given up trying

to recognize you in the surging wave of the next

moment. All the immense

images in me—the far-off, deeply-felt landscape,

cities, towers, and bridges, and un- suspected turns in the path,

and those powerful lands that were once

pulsing with the life of the gods— all rise within me to mean

you, who forever elude me.

You, Beloved, who are all

the gardens I have ever gazed at,

longing. An open window in a country house—, and you almost

stepped out, pensive, to meet me. Streets that I chanced upon,— you had just walked down them and vanished.

And sometimes, in a shop, the mirrors were still dizzy with your presence and, startled, gave back

my too-sudden image. Who knows? perhaps the same

bird echoed through both of us yesterday, separate, in the evening…

Du im Voraus

Du im Voraus

verlorne Geliebte, Nimmergekommene,

nicht weiß ich, welche Töne dir lieb sind.

Nicht mehr versuch ich, dich, wenn das Kommende wogt,

zu erkennen. Alle die großen

Bildern in mir, im Fernen erfahrene Landschaft,

Städte und Türme und Brücken und un-

vermutete Wendung der Wege

und das Gewaltige jener von Göttern

einst durchwachsenen Länder:

steigt zur Bedeutung in mir

deiner, Entgehende, an.

Ach, die Gärten bist du,

ach, ich sah sie mit solcher

Hoffnung. Ein offenes Fenster

im Landhaus—, und du tratest beinahe

mir nachdenklich heran. Gassen fand ich,—

du warst sie gerade gegangen,

und die spiegel manchmal der Läden der Händler

waren noch schwindlich von dir und gaben erschrocken

mein zu plötzliches Bild.—Wer weiß, ob derselbe

Vogel nicht hinklang durch uns

gestern, einzeln, im Abend?

i’m tired. but not just “didn’t sleep” tired. soul tired. bone tired. like my body keeps going but nothing inside knows why.

my body is tired.

my mind is cruel.

i don’t know which one will win.

Tera mujhse hai pehle ka nata koi…

“Do you think the universe fights for souls to be together? Some things are too strange and strong to be coincidences.”

— Emery Allen

how unfortunate it is that love doesn’t find you worthy enough to even give you a chance, as if even heartbreak is a privilege you are denied

- shya via yousmellofstorms

… in that night alive with signs and stars, I opened myself to the gentle indifference of the world

So many people disregard Camus as cold, detached, cynical.

But I ask you, what is a cynic, if not a broken romantic?

“Find meaning. Distinguish melancholy from sadness. Go out for a walk. It doesn't have to be a romantic walk in the park, spring at its most spectacular moment, flowers and smells and outstanding poetical imagery smoothly transferring you into another world. It doesn't have to be a walk during which you'll have multiple life epiphanies and discover meanings no other brain ever managed to encounter. Do not be afraid of spending quality time by yourself. Find meaning or don't find meaning but "steal" some time and give it freely and exclusively to your own self. Opt for privacy and solitude. That doesn't make you antisocial or cause you to reject the rest of the world. But you need to breathe. And you need to be.”

// Albert Camus, from “Notebooks, 1951-1959”

I desire nothing. Truly. My gut burns with lust for nothingness in its purest form.

— ( @songs-of-venus )

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)

I’ll tell you something right now,

I’m terrified of burning my whole life down.

Pick your poison babe, I’m poison either way

Me, after another night of drafting, editing, writing, editing, editing again, some more editing

nevermind *deletes the whole thing*

Can I haunt you? Like romantically.