Things to Do in the Belly of a Whale

Measure the walls. Count the ribs. Notch the long days. Look up for the blue sky through the spout. Make small fires with the broken hills of fishing boats. Practice smoke signals. Call old friends, and listen for echoes of sitting voices. Organize your calendar. Dream of the beach. Look each way for the dim glow of light. Work on your reports. Review each of your life’s ten million choices. Endure moments of self-loathing. Find the evidence of those before you. Destroy it. Try to be very quiet, and listen for the sound of gears and moving water. Listen for the sound of your heart. Be thankful that you are here, swallowed with all hope, where you can rest and wait. Be nostalgic. Think of all the things you did and could have done. Remember treading water in the center of the still night sea, your toes pointing again and again down, down into the black depths
— Dan Albergotti

Good morning ☺️

@Restlessbraincells

A question for you.

𝙹𝚞𝚕𝚢 𝟷, 𝟷𝟿𝟷𝟹
𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙳𝚒𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝙾𝚏 𝙵𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚣 𝙺𝚊𝚏𝚔𝚊, 𝟷𝟿𝟷𝟶-𝟷𝟿𝟷𝟹

I,too,wake up in the middle of the night,feeling the need to cry,I don't know but sometimes I grieve this world and I dont know how to ease its burden. I can only feel its pain and burn as it burns.💔
-Aria

"YOU WILL STOP ASKING FOR ME"💔

You know I love you so.....🖤

To be alone, to be able to be alone is self-education. Solitude is choosing the type of pain, and practicing the actions of the heart with the freedom of self-made, or what is like being free from outside and making an emergency landing in yourself without a survival parachute. You sit alone as an idea devoid of the argument of proof, without contemplating what is going on in the dialogue between the outward and the inward. Solitude is filtered, not mirrored. It throws what is in your left hand into your right hand, and nothing changes in the movement from no idea to meaningless. But this innocent absurdity does no harm or benefit. Solitude is the choice of the affluent, it is the choice of the free.

Let's have a free classroom in solitude with isolé à âme.

𝙹𝚞𝚕𝚢 𝟹, 𝟷𝟿𝟷𝟼
𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙳𝚒𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝙾𝚏 𝙵𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚣 𝙺𝚊𝚏𝚔𝚊, 𝟷𝟿𝟷𝟺-𝟷𝟿𝟸𝟹

.

Something to sleep to today or wake up to tomorrow.🖤

ከልቡ ያልታረቀ የአምላኩ ደጅ መቼ ይከፈትለታል?

I feel like I have exhausted my words. I feel as if I had lived with this pain all my life,I don't know what to speak of other than it.pain.suffering. loneliness. Darkness. These words and much more words of misery were painted all over my writings. I pick up my pen to write and I see my soul being exhausted of it. Like it was gonna drain me. Creating metaphor to beautify the pain is so exhausting. A friend once asked me why I stopped writing love letters. I said to him that I can't keep milking a love that isn't there. Believe me I have loved and I have been loved but never in the way most have been. I felt like I was beating a drum from my side and noone was responding to any of it. How clueless am I? How did I send love letters knowing there is noone to reply back. Kafka had milena. Me. I had noone. It was pretty frustrating coming to my senses and realizing how I have fed up my words speaking of a love long lost. And ofcourse a pain that is long to live. I don't know which spectrum I should write about. Something that is different from what I have been writing all this time. I fear I will never be able to look at the spaces of my heart I haven't looked at yet. I fear I will never change. I fear I will live bleeding a pain that always creeps in the back and a love that doesn't exist. I fear I am noone without it. I fear if I listen to the exhaustion of my soul and stop writing,I won't ever speak again...despite how many words I utter.


-Yeab T🌬

𝙹𝚞𝚕𝚢 𝟺, 𝟷𝟿𝟷𝟸
𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙳𝚒𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝙾𝚏 𝙵𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚣 𝙺𝚊𝚏𝚔𝚊, 𝟷𝟿𝟷𝟶-𝟷𝟿𝟷𝟹