They Say That If A Writer Falls In Love With You, Youll Never Die. But No One Talks About What Happens

“They say that if a writer falls in love with you, you’ll never die. But no one talks about what happens when you break a writer’s heart. How this gift of immortality becomes their curse. How they keep you alive in their poetry even while it kills them. How they recreate the crime scene on paper. Words spread out like map coordinates Looking for where things went wrong. Writing down the word ‘forever’ and Wondering how those three syllables sounded like an eternity when you said it. Every poem they write is a sketch of your face; as if their pen only knows how to make posters of the people they miss; each full stop a reminder of your freckles; each semicolon an image of your sideways smile and the dimple under your cheek. Every poem is just ‘I still love you’ written in code. Every poem is a letter unsent; because if hearts were mailboxes you wouldn’t have one. Every poem is an attempt to soothe the ache in their left chest; to let inked words bleed instead; to shrink the memories into sentences. Every poem is the Heimlich maneuver; so they write until the words locked in their throats fly out like freed birds and bruised lungs can finally taste oxygen again. Every poem is a paper boat called acceptance. Every poem including this one.”

— When you break a writer’s heart by Ceres // @mentamorphisis (via mentamorphisis)

INFJ: Have you ever tried guided meditation?

INFP: No, but I’ve read fanfics about it.

virginia woolf sentence meme.

mostly from her letters to vita sackville-west. feel free to change pronouns, names etc!

‘i just miss you, in a quite simple desperate human way.’

‘she lives in dreams, alone.’

‘it is true that i only want to show off to women.’

‘women alone stir my imagination.’

‘should you say, if i rang you up to ask, that you were fond of me?’

‘look here ( name, ) throw over your man.’

‘i’ll tell you all the things i have in my head, millions, myriads.’

‘they won’t stir by day, only by dark on the river.’

‘think of that.’

‘throw over your man, i say, and come.’

‘i did enjoy seeing you, and am wearing your necklace.’

‘is your garden good?’

‘i lie in bed making up stories about you.’

‘yesterday morning i was in despair.’

‘my body was flooded with rapture and my brain with ideas.’

‘i wrote rapidly till 12.’

‘shall you mind? say yes or no.’

‘here we go, alone, and like it better so.’

‘always, to have sympathy, always to be accompanied.’

‘to be understood would be unbearable.’

‘she stood there, she listened.’

‘she heard the names of the stars.’

‘but with you i am deeply, passionately, unrequitedly in love.’

‘dearest, i remember, do you?’

‘she looked pale, mysterious, like a lily, drowned, under water.‘

‘but for pain, words are lacking.’

‘she did not want to move, or to speak. she wanted to rest, to lean, to dream.’

‘she felt very tired.’

‘and i have no face.’

‘let me know truthfully and exactly how you are.’

‘oh, women are my line, and not these inanimate creatures.’

‘i have a  million things, not so much to say, as to sink into you.’

‘if i don’t hear, i shan’t sleep.’

‘my dearest, i do love you.’

‘all the sibyls and tom eliots in the world don’t love you as much as i do.’

‘i do bless you for all you’ve been to me.’

‘this is not a joke, but a very sober truth.’

‘it is a sensation i only get from you.’

‘it is physically stimulating, restful at the same time.’

‘how i watched you!’

‘i say the whole day on love.’

‘i say it’s seeing things through a purple shade.’

‘but you’ve never been in love, they say.’

‘yes i want you more and more.’

‘you’ll like to think of me unhappy i know.’

‘i want to express beauty too.’

‘the truth shall be dug out of you at all costs.’

‘i attain a different kind of beauty.’

‘i am all the time thinking about poetry and fiction and you.’

‘dearest, i feel certain that i am going mad again.’

‘i feel we can’t go through another of those terrible times.’

‘i can’t fight any longer.’

‘you have been entirely patient with me and incredibly good.’

‘oh, this is pain, this is anguish!’

‘do not start. do not blush.’

‘let us admit in the privacy of our own society that these things happen.’

‘sometimes women do like women.’

‘and you weren’t guilty then, were you? you swore you weren’t.’

‘but do you really like going to bed with women?’

Mr. Darcy: [to Elizabeth Bennet] You make passive-aggressive so adorable.

No more Four shaming!

Most people refuse to identify with, or do not see themselves as Fours because of the stigma attached to this type. Typology is not kind on Fours. It paints them as difficult, crusty, hard to love, defective, insecure people who are moody, hyper sensitive and emotional grenades primed to explode at any moment.

Fours can be extremely aesthetic, highly abstract, original artists and thinkers. They are sensitive to emotional nuances within themselves, and others. They fiercely protect and honour the individuality within themselves, as also in others. With their unconventional worldviews, they are  almost able to reach out to that something sublime that ties us all together.

Something Four has to keep in mind is that you beget what you put out there. So if you put on a crusty front fearing nobody will love you because you are not perfect, or not allow people to get close to you because you are afraid they will never understand you… They will NOT. If you want people to understand you and love you, you have to let go of expectations and allow yourself to open up without preconceived notions about the outcomes of social interactions. Focus less on how you are perceived, and more on the quality of interactions as well as a mutual give and take.

- ENTP Mod.