Hello, it's me again. Just letting you know I'll go to sleep. Good night.

Even while I have every reason to be happy the gray of the world lays heavy upon me. And then there is the rain. Many people I know told me they can sleep even better with the rain, but for me every drop knocking against my window is like a scream, at which I want to roll myself up and hide.

That's how I spent most of my time at the moment. The last days at work where always late shifts and I couldn't do much at home. Except for making loom bracelets. I have also gotten many request for them from Coworkers.

I miss all friends and the subreddit that banned me, for no reason at stated where I posted for two years, and am too blind to see how many new great friends I made the past few months.

I live in a snow globe and am unable to see further than the snowstorm locked inside of me. Despite the world looking so different on the outside

Fibie ✨

To fall from up high, to walk into water, to say you goodbyes, in a three page long letter. That is, I believe, the tragic beauty of it, you feel so alone, that you wanna leave, but you know fully well writing the letter that people will read.

I'm the happiest person I've been in years and still, when everyone is gone, I feel so helpless. But that's okay. Tomorrow's always just a nights sleep away.

Love y'all.

https://www.reddit.com/r/just_post/s/TcfQ1FqK32

8 yeariversary of the greatest video of all time

We are the ghosts we carry. Tucked between ribs, wrapped around the bones like silent whispers, they haunt the places we never say aloud.

We’ve all got them. The memories that wear nooses as jewelry, the dreams that never escaped the cage of our chests. And maybe you’ve buried yours in the hollow of your throat, hoping that silence would strangle the echo.

But silence is tricky. It’s like trying to drown an ocean with a glass of water. It just won’t happen. And neither will forgetting. I used to think if I just closed my eyes long enough, the dark could swallow me whole, but the darkness has teeth, and it chews at the edges of every unspoken word.

The truth is, I’m tired. Tired of pretending I’m not running from my own shadow. Tired of wearing this skin like a mask, pretending it doesn’t itch to be seen. You know that feeling, don’t you? That quiet desperation that sits between every smile? The weight of every “I’m fine” that drips from your lips like poison?

We are the ghosts we carry. Each one a monument to the things we never said, to the people we used to be before the world told us who we should be. Before the mirror became a prison. Before the hands that once held us up became the hands that pushed us down.

I want to tell you that it’s okay. That the ghosts don’t define you. That they’re just pieces of the puzzle, and the whole of you is so much more.

But I can’t. Because I’m still learning how to exorcize my own demons. Still learning that vulnerability isn’t weakness— it’s the bravest thing you can be. And maybe that’s what this is: an offering, a surrender to the ghosts, a truce with the past.

We are the ghosts we carry. But we are also the ones who can choose to let them go.

To feel joy in life is to have no problems, and problems are a matter of perspective. Nomad or homeless. Public servant or protector. Hero or villain is its simplest form. Perspective and how you choose to feel. Of course, homeless people can't call themselves nomads and be done with it. No quality of life will come from that. But the nomad isn't homeless, because he's willingly so. That makes it not "homeless" and more "tieless".

No ties to anywhere. What brings me joy is to learn things of value. Imagine what I've typed here as the intro to a new book by your favourite author. It wouldn't work. It would be out of character. Why is that? What about them is so different? Now you're thinking with nuance. Thinking that way brings me joy. New ideas and learning. Sadly I am depressed and I don't do much but lie in bed thesese days. But what do others do for joy, I wonder? I find that asking up front doesn't yield results.

does anyone want anything?

young & sweet only 17 ✊

see ya later balls, get posted idiots

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That's what you might hear in a distopian future where art was illegal. Chilling.