“I think the saddest people always try their hardest to make people happy because they know what it’s like to feel absolutely worthless and they don’t want anyone else to feel like that.”
maybe the purpose of life is to fill it with as many positive things as you can. regardless of how bad life gets, don’t let it steal your personality, your hobbies, your style. after coming home from a bad day at work maybe you need to sit down and read a nice book. after studying non-stop for so long, maybe you should finish that crochet project you’ve been putting off because you’re so busy. maybe we should prioritize the things we love, the things that make us happy, and not just the things we’re forced to do to survive. in this society, a little peace from the outside world is important. don’t give up on the things that make you happy. don’t forget about yourself.
its so funny to me that people on twitter n tiktok are like “ok but porns still banned on tumblr so at least we’re better then them” as if they dont have to typ3 w0rd$ I1k3 th!$ to get around their censors
y34h, 4t l34st on th1s s1t3 you c4n t3ll th4t th3 p3rson h4s 4 p4rt1cul4r, mor3 4nnoy1ng r34son to typ3 l1k3 th1s
I lost my best friend 3 years ago- not lost as in dead but lost as in we only text each other on our birthdays now. Movies and books don’t tell you that a friendship dying is like the sinking of a ship, you try to get higher and higher and hold onto the rails and unanswered texts, the captain tries to steer it to safety and salvage pieces of two broken hearts until you’re left with memories of what once was. We were friends for a decade and knew each other’s diaries by heart, I still remember her phone number and the way she took her coffee. Seeing her in streets is like breathing in a scent you forgot you knew but it immediately takes you back to a summer in ‘07.
Movies and books also don’t tell you that friendships don’t just end after one fight or incident, it’s like the rusting of a bridge, the slow decay of flesh and bones and secrets. It took weeks, months- until one day I woke up and I realized I hadn’t thought of her in a while. And I wrote a poem that day and I titled it 'The dying of a best friend’ and I put all my love for her in a tiny box with my half of the matching pendant of a dolphin we had and stored them in a corner of my heart under the heading Grief. Where else can one hide unspent love?
It’s been 3 years since I lost my best friend, lost as in I still carry our secrets in a tiny box but we only text each other on our birthdays.
-Ritika Jyala, excerpt from The world is a sphere of ice and our hands are made of fire
