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if love is static, my lover is a fuse. hot, bright, and full of wonder, my love catches my eye and catches flane. if love is an orchestra , my lover is the conductor, i am never afraid for what is coming next. if love is fast, fickle, or angry my lover is not my lover. they are a star instead, a metaphor and the antidote, an achievement but never a trophy, a captured heart but never a conquest. if love is the reason they are the light. i am coming like a vision before the end. we are together and unique, seperate but conjoined. i am not alone in the night. what a joy! what a joy! what a joy! i am not alone in the night.
Jan 23, 2025
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⛏️
On one hand: it just flows. You can't get enough of them. Your eyes, their eyes—could be the only thing that matters in the whole world. Their voice hits you like electricity. When alone, you wonder why you aren't with them. Mundane things, at their side, become adventures. You occupy your own universe that is a secret from all others.
And on the other hand: it is a labor. Your beloved, who stirs and ignites your affection so much, is also the one who most exposes your pride and weaknesses. As you dive into them and truly know them, you discover they are broken and selfish and human. And they discover that about you. The easy slide down the snowy hill of excitement becomes a long drag back up the other side.
But then the two of you put those parts together: combine the thrill and the sparkle with the messiness and the suffering. Your together love becomes something deeper and more enduring. You say: I see you fully but I choose you still, with all my heart and soul.
It becomes something that will withstand any storms that may come, something more mature and tested:
"Love does not consist in gazing at each other, but in looking outward together in the same direction." —Antoine de Saint-Exupery:
Mar 1, 2025
🤍
love is beautiful. love is pure. love is enduring.
i’m not sure if my standards for love are too high, but i worry i don’t mean it. i’d change my character, overcome weaknesses for those i say it to, yet it never feels like enough. i want to embrace someone not only through touch, but through the warmth of my actions and presence.
love knows no bounds. i want to break every single wall a person can put up. still, i know there are limits to love. love is undefined—it is not a singular, universal concept for every person. i fear i can never truly portray my love for another without everything crashing down, whether due to the walls we’ve built to shield ourselves from the world or to passing circumstances.
maybe i’m not concerned about my feelings for others. maybe the words “i love you” don’t quite serve me justice. still, from this new perspective, it’s an affectionate, enkindling acknowledgement to give another—akin to kissing your loved one on the cheek each morning before leaving for work.
love: a word that can be used for anyone, whether platonically or romantically. we really should say these words shamelessly to those around us every day. it’s a marvel to think over what true love means to you and how it can vary from person to person. i think this is what makes it beautiful.
your idea of love will fit into another’s idea of love. i hope everyone who reads this is lucky enough to find that person they mesh together with.^^
Mar 9, 2025
💌
ㅤㅤ
ཐི♡ཋྀ-----˖⁺. ༶ ❤︎ ⋆˙⊹ 𐦍 ˖⁺. ༶ ❤︎ ⋆˙⊹-—--✧˖°.⁺‧˚ ♡ ˚‧⁺ ✧˖°.ˏˋ°•*⁀➷༺𓆩❦𓆪༻˚₊‧⊹₊⠀ྀི*ੈ𑁍༘⋆⋆˙⟡♡₊˚⊹..⊹˚₊♡⟡˙˚₊ · » ♡→꒰ঌꨄ︎໒꒱ to live is to love 🕊️ to pratice love is to honor all the forms that connection takes 🗝️ to love is to honor ཐི♡ཋྀ-----˖⁺. ༶ ❤︎ ⋆˙⊹ 𐦍 ˖⁺. ༶ ❤︎ ⋆˙⊹-—--✧˖°.⁺‧˚ ♡ ˚‧⁺ ✧˖°.ˏˋ°•*⁀➷༺𓆩❦𓆪༻˚₊ ⊹₊⠀ྀི*ੈ𑁍༘⋆⋆˙⟡♡₊˚⊹..⊹˚₊♡⟡˙˚₊ · »
Feb 14, 2024
Top Recs from @kiwibird4
A weird and whimsical adventure through the rabbit hole of American culture. It’s like if the internet were real.
Mar 16, 2025
⭐
i didn't think they were when we first met. i mean, why would i? they were suave, confident, hot. filled to the brim with sticky hubris and emotion. but everyone has a vice, and the best of people keep theirs well hidden. so i find myself here, the place where all good characters begin-- in love. i definitely wasn't expecting it, but that's another story entirely.
i think insecurity is a cautious devil. like the fairy stories i was raised on, it's cunning, a trickster. it masquerades as many things- pride, confidence, and anger being the most prevalent flavors. my lover is none of these things, save maybe a bravado that only comes from finally having the courage to live truly as oneself after years of running. this bravado is enticing, but not necesarily a symptom. perhaps the greater fault is that i am entirely consumed by their personhood. i, like a crocodile on a winters day, bask in the sunlight of their soul. if my limbs were iron i would carve wheels from pure stone and a wagon of aged wood and use it to drag myself to their feet. yet, love is farsighted, and time has revealed the true deliciousness of their personhood rests on the facet that they too, are human.
so, we make our bed in the meadows and we fight our battles in the night. i speak more than i listen, they keep feelings like secrets. they shrivel and burrow to avoid, whereas i become louder to confront. our love is indeed an unlikely story. but i like it, and i want to make it. so, i find myself getting quieter, conceeding more. i let them win and ask them to decide. they do, and we fight sometimes. they would rather be disappointed than rejected. god, don't we all.
i speak in riddles and they in fact. maybe we are too different but we don't let it deter us, for we are far more the same than we could ever realize. still, when i speak plainly they assume puzzles, when i gently correct they quiver, when i say too much they internalize, communication rought by years of passive agressive parents and partners before me. i, who have known none of this, continue my ramblings, wanting only to share more of myself with my lover. i say the wrong thing. there is no wrong. i say things. they hurt.
i don't often mean it the way they take it. their interpretation is a faulty compass that rarely points to true north. sometimes the sheer polarity of their interpretation shocks me. i say i'm tired, they ask if i want them to leave. my direct mind cannot wrap around their curved one. if i wanted them to leave i would have asked. and i would never want such a thing. i say i am scared to become dull. they apologize for ruining me. i ask them what they want, they cannot give an anwer. insecurity is not a trait, it is a tyrant. i see them beneath the ruling scepter but i cannot budge them out from under it.
so i try to be gentle. i speak softly. i conceed. i give them exactly what they ask for. i have been trained on what to avoid. i wonder if this training is making me trickier, or more like the partners and parents that made them this way in the first place. i am no saint, i wish i could learn to shut my desperate eager mouth, a chore i have resisted and fought since childhood with the will and stubborness that remains unchanged. still i ache. the constant intent on misunderstanding me ages my soul. i feel the ache begging them from within my loving eyes. "see me as i am, lover," it cries, "please hear me as i am."
Jan 13, 2025
⭐
i remember wondering what they must have been thinking. while the bombs were being dropped, while their high school crush was sent to fight a war he didn't want. i wondered what they spent their days doing. what their older coworkers were whispering about in break rooms. what the best cook in their friend group was thinking as they fed dinner parties with ritz pies and canned vegetable casseroles. i wondered how it felt to keep spinning when the world was falling apart, surely the citizens knew better, surely they spoke up, surely their bones were alight with rage and confidence and desperation! surely it felt cataclyismic. that's how it's always been taught. looking back, we see the patterns. looking forward, we just see another day.
these days, as my rights are being taken from me every morning, as the farmers are scared to farm and the reporters cannot report and the people are stirring unsteadily- these days i know all too well. i cut my strawberries in fours wondering if next week there will be any left. i listen to conversations in break rooms and elevators, making a tally of who's husband has a red hat and who talks about lowering taxes and whos eyes shift to the floor whenever someone says the word immigrant. i savor, save, and wonder. i worry, don't we all worry?
i hold my lover tight and blanket us in gratitude, praying it is enough that we never discover how lucky and rare this moment is.
when i was young i signed myself up for the revolution because it was exciting. then because it was necessary, and now because it is all there is. we expected songbirds and battle cries and passion, instead we carry casual, mundane grief. maybe there is no better future. maybe all there is is the hope of one.
so i no longer wonder. i know what it is to be one of the unlucky ones. i know the lack of glory in living through the next generations 'never again'. we are not revolutionaries. we are not martyrs. we are people just getting through the day. no one will write me a biography when i am gone, my diary will not be published. but my hands will be dirty and my soul will be light when they accuse me of the crime of being human. i lived, despite it all, during it all. isn't that what it's all about?
Jan 28, 2025