“I used to imagine adventures for myself, I invented a life, so that I could at least exist somehow.”
—Fyodor Dostoyevsky, Notes from Underground (via larmoyante)
—Fyodor Dostoyevsky, Notes from Underground (via larmoyante)
Of course the term “unrequited lover” is misleading because “lover” implies half of a partnership, one side of a couple, but the real truth is something the universe has long been keeping secret: if you love unrequited, you love just the same as requited lovers do. You love deeply and without end; you love like a whisper that tries to stifle itself before turning into a scream.
So maybe you write letters that will never be sent, or you serenade the moon instead of singing to the one person whose window is always closed. Maybe your palm lines ache with suspense at the thought of joining the palm lines of someone else’s hand in secret. Or maybe you even pray for a meteor to crash into earth and automatically reverse each magnetic pole so that every single human being’s position on love is reversed as well, until the one person you care for with every fiber of your flesh and blood begins to love you back.
But you have to release certain people. You have to accept that this giant magnetic reversal will never happen, nor will a first date or even a first hand-holding. You have to let go of the parts of these people that you’re clenching with your fists. That doesn’t mean you have to destroy those parts, but you do have to let them go.
Start with playing catch. Throw the ball as far as you can and as hard as you can into the forest and wait for the forest to throw it back. When it doesn’t, retrieve the ball.
Throw it again and again until the forest finally lobs it back into your waiting arms.
Which it never will.
This is what you have to accept- that the person who has turned you into a tornado of wanting and messy feelings is never going to clean those feelings up. They’re never going to catch your feelings and then throw their own feelings back at you.
But allow yourself one last day of love. Love as complicated and intensely as you are able. Howl it from the rooftops like a wolf at the moon, stare at their photograph until your eyeballs burn, walk mile upon mile to their house and memorize every rafter and shingle, every splinter of wood; write out every word you’ve ever wanted to say to them until your hands cramp and blister. Love. Love without worry and love without embarrassment. Love like the universe loved the Big Bang that birthed it and mothered it. Love like silence loves the space it occupies.
Then release that love the next morning. Punch the wall until your fists are bloody, throw plates against the ceiling, run through the very forest you played catch in, (or rather throw and never come back), until your lungs feel lit with flame. Go to an abandoned parking lot and stomp on all the leftover boards and two-by-fours; tear out chunks of crumbling siding with your bare hands.
And do it all with this person’s name and face running through your mind, until every act of destruction becomes linked with them. Because they have been slowly destroying you too, from the inside out.
Then sleep. Sleep. Sleep fully and restfully in a bed that will never house the person you once loved.
And when you awake in the morning, welcome the new you, who has more room in their heart than ever before. Room for another occupant who will, in turn, allow you to live inside their own.
*doesn’t check bank account*
*pretends everything is fine*
The Last Billboard
A 36-foot-long billboard located at the corner of Highland and Baum in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. Every month, a different individual is invited to take over the billboard to broadcast personalized messages, which are spelt out using wooden letters that are changed by hand.
you can follow its Tumblr here.
“I am grade 12 student who has just recently graduated. You might call me accomplished, and in a way, I am, but not in the way you’d think. 12 years of pouring over text books and being lined up to be judged in front of my peers has not made me any more intelligent. I can tell you the first 45 digits of Pi and I can explain to you the difference between an acid and a base, I can recite the Pythagorean Theorem in my sleep, I will recite lines out of a textbook like they are a religion. But I cannot tell you the value of security, or of kindness. The distinct contrast between personal health and personal gain. I can tell you in grade 10 four of my classmates attempted to take their own lives before finals. I can tell you our counsellors office is always booked. I can tell you how when I didn’t understand something in AP Chemistry my teacher asked me to leave if I could not participate in his class. I merely asked him to explain a question. Instead of doing his job and teaching, he told me to leave. Told me I was not good enough to be there. Mistakes are viewed as failure in these hallways. A wrong answer is a sin you must atone to, not a human error, but a flaw so grand it defines your entire life course. There is no “average” here. We all must exceed expectations. Do your parents know that a grade that is considered average is a “C”? When I got a C in fourth grade my parents grounded me for a month. They said I was lazy and stupid and incompetent and that I’d better smarten up and stop fooling around. I never fooled around. I am driven by a deep need to impress others. I never fool around. I worked and worked and worked, with a deep hollow of anxiety in my chest. I have never been good at History, but I worked and worked and I attained at best a low B. It was not good enough. It is not said but we are expected to put our education before our personal health. It is not asked of us, but it is what we must do to achieve what we are asked to achieve. Our teachers will tell you, “Oh, I only give them one hour of homework each night.” Which is essentially true, each of my five teachers only gives me one to two hours of homework each night. Hmm, that adds up to 5-10 hours of homework, and overdue classwork, and projects. Say goodbye to sleep, say goodbye to feeling calm. I’ve developed a deep rooted anxiety disorder due to school and perfectionistic tendencies. Even when you get 100 percent on an assignment they still criticise you, it is never good enough. One slip, and you are in deep deep trouble. I can tell you that 90 percent of us try our hardest, and our teachers and parents stand in the sidelines, screaming, “You can do better than that!””
— Why I say our education system is flawed (via stupidandreckless)
this is the best thing ive ever read
—The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath - Sylvia Plath (via andmanythings)