Do tell, how was it like before the grief?
Before the constant banters and burn outs for validation?
When was the last “I love you” uttered?
The last warm embrace?
When did it start feeling like a lonely cave?
When?

“Finally, in a low whisper, he said, ‘I think I might be a terrible person.’ For a split second I believed him - I thought he was about to confess a crime, maybe a murder. Then I realized that we all think we might be terrible people. But we only reveal this before asking someone to love us. It is a kind of undressing.”
― Miranda July, The First Bad Man

What if it was me & you?

"Write to me" you said as if writing about you is the most loving thing I did in the process of loving you. Rupi Kaur once said,"I love you means I want to love you". Loving has to be such a strange concept to ever wallow in people's heart. Love has to be the strangest thing to caress my body in this time of my life. Wanting to love you but not letting myself to has to be the greatest crime I committed in my heart. For that I face the trial of longing you in the times I don't even want a single breathing human near me. So tell me what do you posses to devour this dead self?what is it about your finger tips making me long this deprived body a touch? Tell me what is it about your voice that makes me feel the moment you breath? Tell me why do I envy your chords and the air that makes love to your thoughts? Tell me what is it about your eyes that makes me want to stare deeply at? I don't look at people in the eyes. What is different about you? Tell me why is it that you are who nurtures my soul even being this far? Tell me why your guarded selflessness and hidden loving nature is so vibrantly visible to my blind heart? Tell me why you chose my heart to settle on out of all the loving deserving places that passed by you? Tell me why this words don't feel enough? Tell me why loving is as complicated as it is? Tell me why I am telling you this? Tell me how I. A no good human. Will ever find myself a good enough of a human being for you? Tell me why holding me in your palms is your insurance of never losing me? Tell me? I am not even my own self. Constantly losing myself in all the people I loved as I did in you. Constantly doubting my own true identity. Wanting to tame normal human qualities to be easy to be loved by one who committed such a bad act to be cursed by his mother to end up in my path. Second by second being absorbed in a darkness I can never figure out even after living with it since my childhood days. I don't know how to let "love" love me. Love is foreign to accept. Tell me how I can learn to hold you and love you the way I want to while constantly trying to find energy to move and be a human. So if in the smallest chance you felt the sincerity in this I hope my heart's deepest desires of loving you warms your heart for me as I would if I had you.
-Yeab T🌬

How do you unknow a person????????

Dm when identified how.abeg😭

Happens to steal everything from you.💔

Don’t let the bad experiences you’ve had hold you back from experiencing the good moments you deserve.

ሳቁ
ተጫወቱ
ቦርቁ
Make silly jokes, enjoy the company of your friends and the people around you.
ጊዜ ስጧቸው they’ll teach you a lot. It could be a good lesson or a painful one.
We’re social animals ብቸኝነት አያዛልቅም😊
በነገራችን ላይ መልካም ያልሆኑ ሰዎች ገጥመውን ካላስፈላጊ ወዳጅነት ብቸኝነት ይደላ መስሎ ተሰማን እንጂ it’s not even that comfortable. ብዙ የሚጎረብጥ ነገር አለው::

ሌላው
Go and do what you want to do and what makes you happy.

"ሰው ምን ይለኛል?" ደስ ያላቸውን ይበሉ...ወሬ እንደሆን ልማድ ነው::

"ባበላሸውስ?" በደንብ ይበላሽ...ከተበላሸ ወዲህ እና ብዙ ወጣ ገባዎችን ካለፈ በሗላ ያምረበታል...ለጊዜ ጊዜ መስጠትን ልመዱ::

"ብዙ ነገር ያስፈልገኛል and I don’t have the capacity to afford any of it” የቱ ሰው ከትልቅ ተነሳ? Use whatever is in your hands...ምንም ይሁን ምን::

ፈገግ የምታሰኘኝ ምክንያት ደግሞ "ብዙ ችግር ባላሳልፍ ኖሮ እኮ የት እደርስ ነበር...ስለተጎዳሁ ነው እንጂ እንደ ሌላው ሰው ብሆንማ ይሄኔ ስንቱን አሳክቼው ነበር"
ያሳለፋችሁት ህመም እና ችግር ለስንፍናችሁ ምክንያት አይሆንም::
እንደ ሌላው ብሆን የምትሉት ሁሉ አደባባይ አውጥቶ የማያወራው ህመም አለበት::
You’re not special.

በተረፈ እያንቀላፋን እና አየሰነፈን ውጤትን መጠበቅ ቂልነት ነው...ዛሬያችሁን ጠበቅ...ጉብዝናችሁን እንቅ...እሺ?

i want peach yogurt. i want forgiveness and cubed fruit on the table and for someone to hold my hands. i want to look at the stars without a telescope and make up my own constellations, 8pm but still warm outside, lying in the grass with love running towards me until my body forgets it is a body. no more past-tense verbs, no more perpetually closed windows, no more stamping my feet against the tile. i am going to make scrambled eggs in the morning and i won’t mind that they don’t taste good. i am going to believe that there is no one alive who is luckier than me. at dinnertime, i sit on the porch making promises to myself while the sounds of cooking drift through the screen door: the whistle of the kettle, the click-click of the stove as the gas hisses to life. a glass of mango juice sweats in my palm and i tell it that i am grateful, for spilled strawberry milkshakes and the warbler in the back garden that never stops singing and my heart behind my front teeth. i tell it that i am done aiming low, that a year from now i will be the guttural, back-of-the-throat scream you make when the rollercoaster finally drops. i pluck an eyelash off my cheek and wish for spring to take up residence in my lungs. i wish for small kindnesses, more peach yogurt, more sunday mornings, more sitting on the kitchen counter with my feet dangling off the edge. i wish for the world to be so kind to me that i come undone.

— peach yogurt, Frank O’Hara