moonlightcaat-blog

[moonlightcaat-blog]

it’s hard sometimes. letting go. it hurts like a string being pulled out of your chest. it’s painful, and it’s believable, for the longing sorrow to never leave.

[moonlightcaat-blog]

come on, let’s flee.

let’s get lost in the chaos of our minds, the hopes of our thoughts.

the love of our hearts.

« The storm », by Pierre-Auguste Cot, 1880

[moonlightcaat-blog]

i stopped smiling. stopped taking stories.

but did you notice?

i cut out my laugh for it to turn as thin as the silver linings dug in my skin.

but did you notice?

some scars are better left hidden, and some hearts are better left stolen

for i can no longer see, the sun and the moon’s secret meetings.

[moonlightcaat-blog]

turning 20 isn’t about getting older. it’s about getting more flaws & watching your sun kissed face envelope them all. it’s loving, sharing, giving. all of that, in just a handful.

[moonlightcaat-blog]

remember my saying about people’s complains?

as i neared my 20th moon, i gazed upon unhappiness and sorrow.

surrounded by hatred doesn’t make one feel better. i wish some would know that.

[moonlightcaat-blog]

empty eyes filled with sparkles from the sea

I drifted like away like a sailor amongst your waves

[moonlightcaat-blog]

and then you come to find that you are all he knew.

„Portrait of a young woman” — by Pierre Auguste Cot, 1869

[moonlightcaat-blog]

I think sometimes, my greatest mistake was to speak up. Caged in contradictions filled with “yes & no”’s and “i love you’s, but i don’t”, how else am i supposed to fill the space that has nested in my chest? I hear people around me complaining everyday. Using the same goddamn excuses, examples. Using things when they’re convenient, but rarely when they actually add up. I have lost many relationships on the way.

Manipulative ones.

Abusives ones.

Childish ones.

Painful ones.

I have lost many relationships on the way.

But not some quite like you.

„Elegy“ — by William-Adolphe Bouguereau (1899)

[moonlightcaat-blog]

my recent fear was to be discovered by people and seen for the way i was. the way i unraveled. faltered under their gaze. my constant wavering, my unforgiven blundering.

„Waterbaby”— by Herbert James Draper, 1890