Wherever you are,
would you keep in mind that
there is always someone
here
who actually gives a shit?
“
I don’t know why people expect art to make sense when they accept the fact that life doesn’t make sense.David Lynch (via pomeray)
(via fuckthereallife)
realities
Unless you understand the mind’s capacity to create realities, you will be vulnerable to thinking that what you believe is actually true.
(via religiousragings)
The Reasons, R.A. Casilao
I read you not only because of the ways that you and I are similar, but because of the ways that we are different. You may be seeing the world through the monocle of a misanthropist, the vision of a cynic, the canvas of a nihilist, or the pen of the doomsayer. I read you not because I agree but because you bustle and pulse and resonate, and you remind me that life does not only contain the opaque novelty of a rainbow but also the black onyx of the deep; and that light does not always mean a good thing, but that the dark balances my need for color and shadow.
I read you because your pain is part of me, because no matter what grimness you endure your beauty stands out; because I refuse to believe that life is a defeatist venture, that we die slowly as soon as we are born. Art defies death and death supports transcendence. I read you because to me you surpass. I read you because you respond differently to the same crescendo that fills me and vibrate differently in the same light that mantles. Heartbreak cannot exist without love. Hope cannot persist without suffering. Happiness cannot be appreciated without loss. I read you because I have room for your words, and space for the deluge of your disappointments. I have flexibility to take your defiance, ears to invoke your uncouth ponderings, and empathy for your loneliness.
I am reading you still because I love every tendril of your alien intensifications, because every word you write allows me to meditate on my own. You are awesome in the same ways that you are awful, and I desire every post that I have the chance to encounter. I yearn for the eloquence of your soul.
I will continue reading you because you have taught me devotion. I will not give up because you are as human as I am, and we are as human as we can go. We are divine in our humanity and romantic in our aversion. Animosity means dust here, and so does camaraderie. What matters is the way you make me nod, or smile, or sneer, or close my eyes going “fuck you, you are right” and “fuck you, you are wrong”. I read you not because I can compete, or that resentment is a drug, or that I think I am better. I read you because love is as unconditional as we let it, and love is a tattooed biker chick with purple hair, wielding that badass dagger-tip chain, and she is not a quitter.
Never worry that I will turn my head away, because you are in my heart and love is the only thing I have for you. I read you because no matter how trite you are as a masterpiece, you are a masterpiece all the same. My heart spews out numbers, and damn it, you count.
Y sigo aquí en el hueco. Donde las emociones reverberan contra las paredes del mismo y se amplifican y crecen. Me ahogo en una vigorosa deseperación de tí y de quien eres. Muero y revivo en un ciclo infinito. Me hago creer a mi mismo que estas ahí, que tan solo tengo que extender mi brazo para tocarte, pero en realidad estás mucho más lejos de lo que puede mi razón concebir.
Quisiera poder volver al pasado para deshacer todos los nudos que acortaron nuestro camino. Quisiera poder volver a intentar el “tu y yo” una vez más. Quisiera levantarme y correr hasta llegar a tí. Pero querer no es poder.
Querer no es poder.
heartworm
n. a relationship or friendship that you can’t get out of your head, which you thought had faded long ago but is still somehow alive and unfinished, like an abandoned campsite whose smoldering embers still have the power to start a forest fire.
