I gave you a love so vast it could have swallowed cities whole. I built galaxies in my chest just to make room for you, carved out pieces of my soul and called them home so you would never feel alone. I was there and offering, but you… you only ever loved the echo of me, the shadow I cast in your mind, not the woman who bled herself dry to be enough. You didn’t love me. You loved the idea of being loved by someone like me. And that was the slow undoing.
You were never really there, not when I shattered quietly in rooms we shared, not when I fell asleep hoping you would see me again, not just look at me. I held up the heavens for us while you watched, arms folded, eyes elsewhere. And still, I stayed. Still, I gave. Foolish, maybe. Devoted, definitely.
Now, that it’s all gone. I have crossed oceans of pain to reach a shore where your name doesn’t burn on my skin anymore. I am somewhere better, freer, lighter. And just when I have stitched myself together with gold thread and midnight prayers, you come back.
You come back with a whisper of apology, a handful of words you never had the courage to speak when I was drowning right in front of you. Why now? Why always after?
It is the cruel theater of time, isn’t it? The final act where ghosts knock at your door once you have already exorcised them. People see your worth only in absence, crave your presence only when it is no longer a gift they are entitled to. Love should never be a posthumous award.
And yet, here I am, haunted not by you, but by the echo of who I was when I loved you. And that is the deepest ache of all.
(Darjeeling’22)
— virginia woolf , carlyle's house and other sketches (via letsbelonelytogetherr)
“I love lilies. Blue lilies but they are so hard to find…”
Were the words that he told me the moment I asked him what he adores the most. It took me a while to make his vision my reality and I am so happy how it turned out.
I know his admiration and love for Vincent Van Gogh, and how he collects every little piece that he finds that resonates with the artist. Because of his biased nature for Vincent’s aesthetics and of course his love for lilies, I crocheted Starry Night themed lily bouquet for him, with two sunflowers that resonates the moon and frame of the painting.
I know he will love this more than anything and I hope to make him smile just the way he will when see these flowers I made for him.
“Even when you’re emotionally in a wrong place and feeling lost, you care for me. You are present for me. Your kindness means so much to me.
Just think about how much love you could share when you find peace within yourself. You are one of the most beautiful people I know, and I love you for who you are.”
Hans, The Mermaid's Son, from Andrew Lang's The Pink Fairy Book by Henry Justice Ford (1897)
My pov vs his.
(Brown dad core of a feline creature)
From being a student to a guest lecturer, I manifested everything that I believe I ever wanted🧿
Indraprastha College for Women, Delhi’25
seeking, yearning, reaching hands
They/Them | 22 | INFJ | Geography major | Spilled emotions and Stills | Instagram sumedhachattopadhyayy | Alter Ego: @monetsirises in Tumblr.
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