You write me letters on how you will love me like the way they do in the books you so much adore and like to sink yourself into but this is reality. We are breathing. We are humans. Someone must have thought you,maybe as a bed time story that life doesn't work like that. In this world. They break hearts. We. Break hearts.
Credit goes to @awirock23 on twitter
Credit goes to @awirock23 on twitter
Forwarded from Thoughts Hub (Hubeyb☁️)
What is the difference between writing and speaking?
I regained my thoughts, and I saw that when I intend to talk to someone about how I felt about what I lived through. I feel that I am stripping in front of him, I allow him to see my weakness and my helplessness, I lay down my arms forever, I may speak only to share and remove him from my shoulders, but I seem clear with open wounds. I am offended by their sympathy reaction and their sadness, or their gossip, their lack of interest, and what is worse is that they do not forget what happened despite my transgression of it, and I now confess that I am ready to transcend my principle of compliments, but to say my true feeling; Except for those close, there is no point in hiding from them.
As for writing, it covers me, gives me the freedom to exaggerate anger and joy, to hide behind metaphors, to write in the third person without intrusion. And when you finish writing the text, it does not return to you, it becomes the king of its readers, they receive it and treat it as they wish. Fingers will not turn to me after that to ask about the reason for this tear because it is no longer mine; It has become for all of us.
I regained my thoughts, and I saw that when I intend to talk to someone about how I felt about what I lived through. I feel that I am stripping in front of him, I allow him to see my weakness and my helplessness, I lay down my arms forever, I may speak only to share and remove him from my shoulders, but I seem clear with open wounds. I am offended by their sympathy reaction and their sadness, or their gossip, their lack of interest, and what is worse is that they do not forget what happened despite my transgression of it, and I now confess that I am ready to transcend my principle of compliments, but to say my true feeling; Except for those close, there is no point in hiding from them.
As for writing, it covers me, gives me the freedom to exaggerate anger and joy, to hide behind metaphors, to write in the third person without intrusion. And when you finish writing the text, it does not return to you, it becomes the king of its readers, they receive it and treat it as they wish. Fingers will not turn to me after that to ask about the reason for this tear because it is no longer mine; It has become for all of us.
በጨለማ ስሄድ ለአይን እይታዬ እንደሚያስቸግረኝ ጥላዬ
ከማንነቴ ውስጥ ለማየት የሚያዳግቱኝ ብዙ ነገሮች አሉ
Photo Credit goes to @Quantinfirfirino on twitter
ከማንነቴ ውስጥ ለማየት የሚያዳግቱኝ ብዙ ነገሮች አሉ
Photo Credit goes to @Quantinfirfirino on twitter
Forwarded from αll օբ մs•••
THE VERY THING
I often wonder why we want so much to give others the very thing that we ourselves were denied. The mother working tirelessly to provide her child with an education; the little boy who was bullied in school and is now a Nobel Prize winning advocate for peace. The author who writes happy endings for the characters in her book.
I often wonder why we want so much to give others the very thing that we ourselves were denied. The mother working tirelessly to provide her child with an education; the little boy who was bullied in school and is now a Nobel Prize winning advocate for peace. The author who writes happy endings for the characters in her book.
αll օբ մs•••
THE VERY THING I often wonder why we want so much to give others the very thing that we ourselves were denied. The mother working tirelessly to provide her child with an education; the little boy who was bullied in school and is now a Nobel Prize winning…
We are all trying to have what we never had the chance to.
Forwarded from apparently i’m still alive (mike)
i have never seen battles quite as terrifyingly beautiful as the ones i fight when my mind splinters and races, to swallow me into my own madness, again.
ውስጤ በሀሳብ ሲመታ፣ስሜትና ፍቅር ቄንጥ ሲሆንበት ከሩቅ ሁኜ አሻግሬ እመለከታለሁ።ልክ ከወደብ ሆኖ ትንሽ ጀልባ ስትራወጥ እንደማየት ነው።አላድናት!ከርቀት በስስት እመለከታታለሁ።መርከበኛው የኔን የሆነን ነገር እንዲወስድ መፍቀድ አልነበረብኝም። በስሜት አልባ ቃላቶች ሸርቦ የሰጠኝን ከንቱ የፍቅር ቃል በመቅረዝ ውስጥ ልከት አይገባኝም ነበር።በ7 አመት እኔነት ውስጥእርስ በራሴ ሹክብዬ ከልብ ልሰማው የሚገቡ ቃላት አሁን ልቤን እንደ ጦር ይወጉኛል።በነፍሴም ይጫወታሉ።ከልቤ ብሆን ምን ነበረበት..............
Photo credit @awirock23 on twitter
Photo credit @awirock23 on twitter
Forwarded from Lost·In·Pieces
Everyone feels fragile and insecure from time to time. I am no exception. During those times when I desperately look to the outside I close my eyes and remind myself it is not outward validation I need but the inner one in me. So I look back and reflect just how far I’ve come, all the pains and obstacles that I have overcome thus far, and I reflect upon how I have been tempered through the burning embers and the cold ice. I feel the memories in me renew my strength once more, for what once was for destruction now has been rendered for the light, for what was once a bleeding wound has now become a garden where flowers bloom.