she/her | xxiii | i've always been told, we hold black holes inside
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i hate it when people ask me to "explain my thought process" like hell if i know
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they put something in late november/early december that makes me literally insane.
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and nothing helps, no amount of rest, no green teas, no walks in nature. I bleed on paper and it smells like roses, roses full of thorns, thorns digging into my chest, and I bleed on paper. And the next morning, I find the words too cringe and the roses look like dried blood, clotted into me, heart full of clots. And the night comes again, and you ask me how I am. I tell you nothing helps, not the walks, not the teas, no rest. And I bleed on paper.
-Ritika Jyala, excerpt from The Flesh I Burned
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song so good that I forgot I'm real
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everything is a circle so we’ll be right back
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the epic highs and tragic lows of literally just being in my head on a perfectly normal day
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trying to heal, while trying to grieve, while trying to live, while trying to forgive, while trying to love, while trying to be loved
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