Icon from a picrew by grgikau. Call me Tir or Julian. 37. He/They. Queer. Twitter: @tirlaeyn. ao3: tirlaeyn. 18+ Only. Star Trek. The X-Files. Sandman. IwtV. OMFD. Definitionless in this Strict Atmosphere.
if you are lucky you will love someone and their hair will thin and their breasts will sag and you will kiss them everywhere over and over again
I was having a conversation with someone who was lamenting over how to maintain attraction to our partners as their bodies change and age and feeling self conscious herself about that process and I was like. we should be so lucky as to see them through these many years as we are seen ourselves. Hope that helps u understand
You grew up with a skewed view of how one experiences attraction to people because you had to hide your love, and it took you a while to catch up with it once it was there
And, because of that, you continually fall in love with close friends, with acquaintances, with passersby in streets who look at you a certain way, with the concept of people gone long before you Trying so badly to find a similar connection that you know is there, that will always be there
Each love fills you with an even heavier weight of loneliness Each love makes you wonder if this is how one is supposed to love Each love makes you wonder if you will ever love Each love makes you bite your tongue
You don’t act on your love You want to love so badly, you want to love so much that it aches
Put your love to sleep now, settle in for the night spooning the empty spot in your bed that you manifest into something that should be there
I have gorged myself on love, and yet I starve for it more than ever. I must refuse to be frightened by my desire, I must refuse to put myself in a cage or repent. Joy is out there, joy, joy, joy, sweet like a hundred blackberries in a shining July. I will not fear the thorns and brambles; I will pluck, I will eat, I will smile. If I bleed, let me bleed. I will bleed in the sun.
i thought, for a long time, that i had to keep my passions private.
he didn’t like the poetry. it would fly around in the bedroom with us. little words like gnats; all caught up in a smokescreen. i was used to this kind of thing - i would only enjoy my own writing with a flinch. i would apologize. i know, there’s nothing real about an internet poet.
my friends didn’t like to read anything i liked. they didn’t like my music. they didn’t like the way i sang or how i laughed or how i’d dress. i told myself this is normal - we all have different passions, after all. one thing is sweet to me, too-sour to another.
i didn’t know. i thought friends were just mean sometimes, and you couldn’t expect them to be excited. i thought love happened only half in the sunlight. shy about anything i liked. for a long time the people i met all loved the word “myopic”. they refused to do anything without promising it was ironic.
i didn’t know. it seemed easier, you know? to just hide all of it. it felt pathetic, begging people please just watch this. please read this. please try this. you’ll like it, i know it.
my sister bought me house plants for the holiday. she doesn’t keep them, she just knows i like them. my friend recently collected a list of 50 books with lgbt+ characters in them, ones where nobody dies in the end. she says she keeps an eye out for them, because i mentioned once i’d been looking to expand my list. the other day my roommate made me fish tacos even though he hates fish - he said i know you’re having a hard day, and these are one of your favorites.
people don’t have to “get it”. but the good ones will try, anyway. the good ones will get excited with you. they buy you the concert tickets even though they don’t know any of the music. they know all the actors of the show even though they don’t have time to watch it. they ask you questions about the game even though they’ve never even seen the loading screen. they are happy that you are happy, and enjoying something harmlessly. they are just proud you are trying. particularly something creative - it is a dark world. to make something is powerful, and should be celebrated.
she holds my hand. she knows literally nothing about dnd, but lets me chatter about my new campaign for literally three hours, endlessly. in return, she and i discuss this anatomy book she’s reading. i don’t know half the words but i love that she finds it exciting. life in the sun like - oh, this is flying.
