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important part of moving on for me…getting the story on the page solidifies it, encases it in amber, makes it no longer something alive in your head. try it and see‼️
Jan 20, 2025
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we make silly mistakes and have regrets and they hurt our pride and it’s awkward yeah sure ok but hear me out:
sometimes what we are looking for (in any context) lies in revisiting, refining, reliving, remembering. or it lies in the process of doing so. it’s something i’ve been reckoning with recently.
if something we learned from the past made us feel something, what can we pull from it? can it be resurrected? or made better? or can we use that feeling elsewhere?
sorry for the conceptual philosophical rec that I’ll forget writing but i won’t be able to go to bed unless i write this itchy thought down somewhere
Mar 2, 2024
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I've deleted Instagram. I'm stretching my ears. I'm making video diaries again. I write for myself only. I'm secluded, quiet, I'm grieving, I'm burying myself and I am being buried and I am attending the funeral. I'm alone in all of this.
It wasn't a new year resolution that led me here. It wasn't therapy or a fortune cookie or anything romantic. But I realize your story only matters if you plan on telling it to someone. Maybe as a response to something, "what the fuck is wrong with you?", maybe an intimate secret, maybe a drunken ramble. I'm done telling stories.
I've been alone for forever. Occasionally someone will drift too close, and I think maybe this time, maybe, maybe... And I'm left scarred, or left quietly, but always left.
Of course I have things to reflect on and things to take accountability for. But I'll be damned if I present my isolation as pure, as if I am a martyr. No, this is not for everyone's safety or my own digestibility. I am bringing the chisel down in sharp downward motions against myself again and again and and I will carve something new from this stone tomb. I'll never be David. I'll never be Michelangelo. But I can be something more than stone.
I am moving on. I don't know to where or to what end. It doesn't matter. Very little does, now. Maybe it always had such little meaning and I was just too close, to desperate, to see that. I wanted so badly to mean something. Even if it was just to be grieved. No one will miss me, now, as it's always been. But I also don't miss me.
Moving on.
Mar 26, 2025
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I have had just multiple ego deaths and I just want to write about it. I.guess as a way to process it
Mar 20, 2024
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Feb 25, 2025
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Dating
Apps are killing true flirters every day. I have been challenging myself to get off the apps and flirt irl with strangers as often as is appropriate. Difficult because sometimes I forget how to be charming if I am nervous or anxious…but i am slowly killing my anxiety and attempting to live a fuller life and i am lowkey proud of that … as fuck
Jan 21, 2025
