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sylveoen
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The dog lifts her head from the piles of dead leaves, and at first she is calm, until she is not. She can’t find me. Not behind the cypress or the still-bare viburnum. Betrayer, I am watching from the window. Warm behind the doorframe. What
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“There’s this idea in psychoanalysis that I’ve always liked.” Julian pulled himself closer and rested his head in the crook of Paul’s arm. “It’s that what we call ‘love’ is actually letting your identity fill in around the shape of the other person—you love someone by defining yourself against them. It says loss hurts because there’s nothing holding that part of you in place anymore. But your outline still holds, and it keeps holding. The thing you shaped yourself into by loving them, you never stop being that. The marks are permanent, so the idea of the person you loved is permanent, too.”
― These Violent Delights
― These Violent Delights
“It was a relief and a horror to be known so perfectly”
― These Violent Delights
― These Violent Delights
“we love to say the digital is fleeting
like a sunset
but these scraps of ourselves we fling into the ether will outlive most of us, like the sun”
― Several People Are Typing
like a sunset
but these scraps of ourselves we fling into the ether will outlive most of us, like the sun”
― Several People Are Typing
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