Just INFP Things

i made coffee, and i was stirring it calmly, gazing into the empty space on my table wondering about how small i am, this world and how i'll find my "mate" and how'd i hug her just to tell her that she's warm, like those calm raindrops along with the sun shining and its making rays making their way through the thick layer of dark clouds.

I didnt realise it until now,

It was a leisurely feeling

The way this quote slips through my ribcage and strangles my heart

poem: learning to listen to your voice

i have not been writing much lately,

for i feel i do not possess the “right” words to say,

and i have been tossing more poems

than i have been finishing—

i am learning that

sometimes not saying anything

is better than saying something

empty—

so i have spent nights sitting,

paying attention to the silence

despite the hundreds of distractions

begging to break the stillness

on account of their desire to be

constantly moving—

yet, i do not want to be the one always speaking,

acting as if i deserve that kind of authority,

just because i want so desperately to avoid

doing nothing—

i have not been writing much lately,

but i am not doing nothing;

in fact,

i am finally learning to listen.

-j.g. edge

does anyone else constantly get the feeling that you’re running out of time?? and for no reason!! i could be lying in bed in the middle of summer vacation and my mind is like “hurry up!!! before it’s too late!!!” and i’m just like “hurry up and do what?? leave me alone wtf!!!”

i’m a hopeless romantic with all these ideal scenarios in my head but i’m also terrified of falling in love and trusting someone new.

the amount of relativity this post has to me

“I write because I’m poor, I write because words are all I own, I write because I’m tired of hollow talk”

Alone

by Edgar Allan Poe

From childhood’s hour I have not been As others were; I have not seen As others saw; I could not bring My passions from a common spring. From the same source I have not taken My sorrow; I could not awaken My heart to joy at the same tone; And all I loved, I loved alone. Then – in my childhood, in the dawn Of a most stormy life – was drawn From every depth of good and ill The mystery which binds me still: From the torrent, or the fountain, From the red cliff of the mountain, From the sun that round me rolled In its autumn tint of gold, From the lightning in the sky As it passed me flying by, From the thunder and the storm, And the cloud that took the form (When the rest of Heaven was blue) Of a demon in my view.

and water them everyday ( ꈍᴗꈍ)

I’ll make flowers grow in the saddest part of you.

“Even amidst the hatred and carnage, life is still worth living. It is possible for wonderful encounters and beautiful things to exist.”

— Hayao Miyazaki