Unspokens

- Day 1 of learning French It’s fun. I totally can see myself in it. This is sth I’m meant to go for.

All I can say is that whoever I was and whatever I’ve done until this day was real. It came from a genuine person who tried her best to be honest and entirely herself.

I’ve been through so many deaths and rebirths. It’s a part me. As she said “l’m good at being uncomfortable so i can’t stop changing all the time.” That’s who I am. I was born like this. At first, It made me feel misunderstood, misjudged and like some shitty, unstable person but I’m not gonna try to explain myself anymore cause you’ll never get it. See me as whoever you want me to be but in the end, none of you could imagine how terrifying it is, to have to watch everything you care for the most, die and to let go again and again and start from the beginning for ten thousand times cause you don’t have any other choice. It took me a long time to finally accept my nature and to make peace with it so idgaf about being wrongly interpreted genuinely. I can’t.

You have to protect the things that matter most to you.

Cause I don’t appreciate people who don’t appreciate.

You can tell how unhealed a person is by how personally they take things.

می‌شه خیلی چیزا رو پذیرفت ولی، بی‌رحمانه‌ست بی "تو" قبول من.

وای همیشه وقتی این رو بهم می‌گفتن یا می‌گفتن ادایی رها می‌گفت «خب آدم ادایی باشه مگه چشه؟ وقتی ادایی بودن حالش رو خوب می‌کنه کی‌ می‌تونه بهش گیر بده؟»

هر کی هست just stop

کمک

وای این اهنگای هوش مصنوعی رو کی برای مامانم میفرسته

Standing upon a bridge bound to two places one steeped in guilt and shame, the other burning with absolute rage, both calling my name like they have known me longer than I have known myself. And I am tired of choosing. And I cannot find my way out, so I lay myself down upon the cold ground, waiting for lightning to tear through my body, every single part of it, one by one, all in a moment, till I’m gone. so I won’t have to choose between the two, when I know either path ends in a prepared hell for sinners like me. What if I’m guilty and still worth saving? My hand’s still red. God knows, it’s my own blood. What if, somewhere beyond this, that angel who remembers I wasn’t like this before, before I learned how to scratch at every part of my soul, would come saying, “You can start it over without swallowing that old bane over and over again just because you call it love.” Maybe she’s coming to find me there still breathing, more human than I’m willing to believe. - Sinner like me