“Every deep thinker is more afraid of being understood than of being misunderstood.”
Friedrich Neitzsche was a German philosopher, prose poet, and cultural critic.
Born: 15 October 1844, Röcken, Lützen, Germany
Died: 25 August 1900, Weimar, Germany
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it’s hard to poeticize anything when i put myself in prison; i could have something deadly in me [more deadly than usual] and i don’t want to poison anyone i love. see, if i was home, i would wait the days it would take your body to heal itself and then throw myself at you, boyish and silly, as desperate as you say. you always joke at this, at my desperation and unabashed obsession but how could i hide it? i make a choice to let you have this, lay the spread of fruit and ashes on the table, lay the stars into the sky like tiles in a mosaic. i get picky with my feelings. eat anything but bugs but i’ll only show someone what’s sweet—succulence. not you: never you. you get the rotisserie and what’s rotted.
we know this: i point at what makes me uncomfortable. it’s easier to control when i do the laughing first. i don’t do this for control. i am desperate for you and i do not care who knows. i am wading through time to get to you. i am marching alongside hope. i am performing my feelings so you haven’t a doubt of what i feel. it’s only embarrassing to be obsessed when it’s one sided.
i last saw you just three days ago and it feels like twenty five. i think of you alone in that house and my pupils blow out. i love you. i do not care who knows it.
i slide myself into your lap, inhale smoke and detergent and the crisp smell of your deodorant, the tablets of your toothpaste. the warm smell of your house. i pet your dog gently.
i’ll be home soon. i won’t get lost in work or grades or sleep, just lost in you. i won’t get those tattoos yet so we can go swim in the sea first. i won’t miss you too much unless you ask, unless i think about you—which, i always do. i swallow each sunrise with gusto, waiting for the one that brings you back to me. i picture your face and your hands and the way you bounce a bit when i stare at you too long. i hear your trill at the perfect bite ring in my ears. i swallow apricots, i swallow the moon.
i’m laying lavender and thyme and forget-me-nots under my pillow. i am drinking chamomile tea.
i’ll see you soon, i know. i know. my father rings in my ears again. it will be good to have you home.
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“your gut instinct is not a liar, those initial feelings exist for a reason, sit on them if you need to, process whether your feelings are valid or just projections, but never dismiss your intuition when the signs are staring you in the face and your nervous system is agreeing.”
— iambrillyant
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“honor the friendships that allow you to pick up from where you last left off, regardless of how long it’s been since you connected. the friendships that survive hiatuses, silences and space. those are the connections that never die.”
— iambrillyant
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