I Never Ever Said It To Anyone But No One Here Knows Me So I Feel Like I Can Talk About My Sexuality
i never ever said it to anyone but no one here knows me so i feel like i can talk about my sexuality questioning and after thinking about it for a few years and changing my opinion a thousand times i feel like i'm homosexual and panromantic and maaaybe also like demiromantic or greyromantic ? something along the lines.
More Posts from Irinamitr and Others
'going insane before an exam' core
i need to read 5 more books till the end of the year but i honestly can't decide what to pick next. i want to read slowburn but it's never done as i like in books and when i think of it, i realise that i don't even want to read romance. i can't decide on genre and on author and on anything at all because nothing just feels right for me. i want something poetic but it's hard to find poetry that would actually speak to me. i can't trust recommendations because it always feels off and i don't even trust people's opinions anymore. why is it so hard? why do i need to read a hundred books to find the one that would feel like it sees my soul?
It’s kinda beautiful how humans are drawn to tragedies. That for thousands of years people have gathered to hear the stories of humanity battling fate, the stars, the gods, itself. Fighting and failing with the idea that, despite the tragedy of it all, there is always something worth fighting for. That there is something to be learned in the debris. That sometimes humanity falls and other times it rises. Though never without a fight. And maybe the tragedy is simply that one must fight to live, and fighting rarely ends without scars. So we tell the stories of our scars to make others feel less alone in their own. That humanity can share in the collective experience of suffering. To let each other know that our stories have worth no matter the outcome. They deserve to be told. There’s tragedy in everything. That doesn’t mean you stop fighting. Stop living. Stop loving. And that hope has transcended time. Which is a tragedy in itself.
leonard cohen, take this longing
beloved is such a good endearment. it’s like so intensely loving, so tender, so succinct & to-the-point. beloved! one who is much loved (by me!)
Sketch by Channing H.M
One to use for breathing today.
Find what you love and let it kill you.
- Charles Bukowski
— Richard Siken, from Littany In Which Certain Things Are Crossed Out
