The Thing Is, I Knew I Was Going To Lose You And I Knew It Was Going To Hurt. However, I Often Find Myself

"Dark academic?" More like "someone please help me holy shit I can't continue living like this and the only thing keeping me from falling off my rocker is literature."

As pessoas querem justificar/julgar o amor entre duas pessoas do mesmo sexo usando religião, biologia, filosofia, sociologia, história, física, química, português, inglês, matemática, espanhol, arte, astrologia […] Amor é amor, ninguém explica o amor.

— Amor, sublime amor.

As a child i already had a longing for a life that wasn't mine. I thought it was the future. Now i sit at my desk and there are sunbeams on the floor. I cry because they look like how they used to in our old living room when i was 5. I long for a past unlived, dreamt away, filled with hope for something that already happened almost unnoticed, but at least it was bathed in honey and sunlight.

like

i keep thinking about digital ghosts. or maybe digital hauntings would be a better term. the final messages shared between you and someone you no longer speak to, for whatever reason. a webpage, or blog post, or inactive profile on a social media forum that you still return to sometimes, no longer even hoping for something to have changed, just to remember, like returning to a grave year after year. video and audio recordings of people who've left your life that you play back over and over until the tape wears out. in the realm of the more fantastical, maybe a hologram that bears their likeness but only a pale, shallow imitation of their complexity, their personality, or an AI or other imperfect replica built on a lifetime of data collected from them that only reinforces their absence but is all you have left to remember (or replace until you forget the difference) them by. all these records that they existed that will inevitably only last as long as the technology that supports them takes to become obsolete, or the data corrupts and begins to break down, or the archives storing it are no longer hosted anywhere. you haven't cheated death, or the grief that comes with losing someone. you've just prolonged it.

Me in the middle of the night: *coming up with ideas for papers, developing points to argue, thinking of concepts for stories I want to write, imagining worlds that make me eager to start writing*

Me when I’m finally in front of my laptop: How do I write?

your hologram 👾👻 stumbled 🫨 into my apartment 🌃 hands 🙌 in the hair 💆‍♀️ of somebody 💏 in darkness 🌫️😶‍🌫️ named Chloe 💆‍♀️ or Sam 💆 or Sophia 💆‍♀️ or Marcus 💆‍♂️ and I. just. ʷᵃᵗᶜʰᵉᵈ 👀. it happen 💏🧍‍♀️. as the decade 📆 would play us for fools 🃏🤝🃏 and you saw 👀 my bones 💀🤝💀 out 💃🕺 with somebody new 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👨 who seemed like 🤔 he would've bullied you 🤓🥊🤣 in school 🤕🏫 and you. just. ʷᵃᵗᶜʰᵉᵈ 👀. it happen 🫂🧍‍♂️. if you wanna break 💔🔨🤬 my cold 🤧 cold 🥶 heart 💙 just say, 🗣️"I loved you 🥰…the way that you were 😕🤷‍♂️” if you wanna tear 🫱💔🤏 my world 🫱🌎🤏 apart 🫱💥🤏 just say you've always…woOondered 🤔💭👩‍❤️‍💋‍👨…you said some things 🗣️🗯️ that I can't 🙅‍♀️ unabsorb 🗣️🗯️🧽 you turned me into an idea of sorts 🧍‍♀️🟰🤔💭😇🪽 you needed me 🫂 but you needed drugs more 🤷‍♀️ and I could-n't. 🙅‍♀️. ʷᵃᵗᶜʰ 🫣. it happen. I changed into goddesses 🧝‍♀️ villains 🦹‍♀️ and fools 🤡🎨🖌️ changed plans 🇬🇧✈️🗽 and lovers 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👨👩‍❤️‍💋‍👨👩‍❤️‍💋‍👨 and outfits 👩🏼‍🦱👱🏻‍♀️💇🏼‍♀️👩🏻‍🦳👩🏼 and rules 📏👸 all to outrun 🏃‍♀️💨 my desertion of you 🏃‍♀️💨🏝️ and you. just. ʷᵃᵗᶜʰᵉᵈ 👀. it 🏃‍♀️💨🏝️🧍‍♂️. if you wanna break 💔🔨🤬 my cold 🤧 cold 🥶 heart 💙 just say, 🗣️"I loved you 🥰…the way that you were 😕🤷‍♂️” if you wanna tear 🫱💔🤏 my world 🫱🌎🤏 apart 🫱💥🤏 just say you've always…woOoOondered 🤔💭 if the glint in my eye ✨👁️ traced the depths ✏️🗺️🤿 of your sigh ✏️🗺️😮‍💨 down that passage ⬇️ in time ⌛️ back to the moment ⏳⏪ I crashed into you 🧍‍♂️💥🏃‍♀️ like so many wrecks do 🏝️💥🚢 too impaired by my youth 👼 to know what to do 🤷‍♀️❓ so if I sell my apartment 🌃💸 and you have some kids 👶👧🧒👦 with an internet starlet 🤵‍♂️🤰🤳🏻 will that make your memory 🤔💭❤️‍🔥 fade from this scarlet maroon 🤔💭😶‍🌫️ like it never happened? 🤷‍♀️💭🌫️ could it be enough 🤔 to just float in your orbit? 👩‍🚀🪐🧍‍♂️can we watch our phantoms 🧍‍♂️👻❤️‍🔥👻🧍‍♀️like watching wild horses? 🧍‍♂️🐎🐎🧍‍♀️ cooler 😎 in theory 👩‍🔬💭 but not if you force it to be 🫸🧍‍♂️🧍‍♀️🫷it just didn't happen 🤷‍♀️ so, if you wanna break 💔🔨🤬 my cold 🤧 cold 🥶 heart 💙…..say you loved me 😞…….and if you wanna tear 🫱💔🤏 my world 🫱🌎🤏 apart 🫱💥🤏 say you'll always…woOoOonder 🤔💭………………….'cause I woOoOooonder 😞💭…….will I always…will I always…..won-der? 🤷‍♀️💭🌫️

i'm so obsessed with the idea of living in a big city where i can choose to be invisible and disappear between the crowds and live for myself and have my favorite little corner in a cafe and go to musea and galleries and appreciate art and architecture for hours uninterrupted and go to all the places where literary figures got inspiration for their poetry and their works and stroll down the streets by myself and look at people who pass by and invent little stories for them in my head and live in a small apartment where i can write by my open window until really late at night and sometimes stop and listen to the bustle of life on the streets below and i can also choose to be part of that bustle myself and part of a circle of artists who share a studio and support each other and go to social gatherings where i meet people who are as passionate about art and poetry as i am and exchange ideas and be inspired and have specific corners and monuments and cafes where we gather, and hold symposia stuffed in someone's tiny apartment and in general live as an active part of the urban creative scene ??? just ,,, living in a city where i get to see the entire assembled past and present existence of humanity ???

I want to write. I have ideas. I open document. I type four of the worst sentences ever created in the english language. I daydream the rest of the scene. I close document.

I want to run away. Just completely disappear, tell nobody, and become someone entirely new. I can start my new life with my favourite and best person I ever met. I wanted to romanticize things with my best person. I wanted to visit museums where I can dress in pleated short skirts and blazers, be coy and mysterious enough that everywhere I go people are intrigued and charmed by my mere existence, only to vanish as quickly as I arrived. I want to be known yet unknown. Leave behind my past so I have enough secrets to fuel a thousand rumours about who I am. Maybe that's good material for being lonely, but is that not how all the best people live and die?