to love someone is firstly to confess: i'm prepared to be devastated by you. by A History of My Brief Body by Billy-Ray Belcourt
“Et in Arcadia ego”
(Even in Arcadia, there am I)
I will tear my heart out; before this cathedral of flesh lets me go
The pink ribbon scars remain, delicate inscriptions of things I never dared say aloud
I have bled in silence, tried to scour regret with ritual and rainwater… but it clings, a second skin, soft as memory, heavy as guilt
My angel wings; once alabaster, now bound in velvet chains; a slow suffocation beneath borrowed holiness
They ache when the wind moves.
They remember flight.
My belly burns with the echo of choices, each one a blade turned inward, an inheritance of fire
There is no absolution here; only the architecture of longing, and the dust that gathers in the mouths of the dead.
Old room, old images; 2023 was 2 years ago. Dangerous how the time flies by.
17 February, 1926 The Letters of Vita Sackville-West to Virginia Woolf (1924-1941)
Madison Julius Cawein, “Dusk In The Woods”
— Ernest Hemingway, The Sun Also Rises
“She falls, not like rain, nor like the weeping of skies, But in pirouettes; each flake… A whispered secret spun from the breath of stars.
How happy she looks, gilded in sunlight, blushing at the glances of children, stretching herself across fields… Like she’s always belonged.
Yet in her mirror, she sees only glass.
Not the frost laced wonder, not the shimmer in her descent,
But an absence; a definite pale ache…”
𝔠𝔯𝔞𝔳𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔬𝔠𝔱𝔬𝔟𝔢𝔯
They/Them | 22 | INFJ | Geography major | Spilled emotions and Stills | Instagram sumedhachattopadhyayy | Alter Ego: @monetsirises in Tumblr.
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