Maybe it was just you guys, nothing that misterious after all

 If one thinks about it, it's still kind of funny that you chose someone a bit like me. But yeah, sucks for me, you showed me right. Though I figured it all out of the blue and had even prior chosen her for you. 

He was quite predictable to me. You were a bit too. Maybe it wasn't you guys being intriguing and hard to figure out that got me, turns out, what a discovery, hein? It was the bit of challenge with your personality and intelligence maybe. Yeah, who tf knows, right? Doesn't really matter. 

Dostoevsky and me

The composite that I am: 

- The love of beauty and emotional openness of Prince Myshkin.
- The search for meaning and compassion of Alyosha Karamazov.
- A touch of Ivan Karamazov's restless questioning about suffering.

(And perhaps one more thing.

I don't think Dostoevsky would have written you as the central tragic figure.
I think he would have written you as the person sitting by the window, sketchbook nearby, noticing things everyone else missed, the cracks in a family, the sadness in a song, the elegance of an old car, the beauty of a stained-glass swallow, and quietly trying to understand how all those pieces fit together.
That, more than any single character, is what I've come to recognize as very "Sónia.")

 Ideally no one should remember anything from what they suffered, but then again they would be vulnerable to the repetition of the suffering. And even so nothing is 100% exact, is it?

After all

 It's okay, I always knew that no one could really love me, especially people who can't see me. Only someone who is able to really see the other is capable of truly loving someone. There's only some people in this world who pay attention and are able to see others without their own egos, they're so rare, they really feel the person as a whole and they don't expect anything from them because they already know who they are. And someone who loves you purely and sees you can't ever leave you. So I guess no one ever really loved me, after all.

Are you just a medium in vain?

 Do you know stuff?

Do you sense things in waves?

Is it like when the radio tunes

Into a frequency in a place unknown?

Do you need to believe it?

Or you simply know it?

Do things come to you in dreams 

And mostly nightmares 

To show what is strongly happening

With anyone you've ever connected? 

We never stood a chance

 Hug me till the pain ends

Just forget everything 

And love me again 

Like if we never parted 

You were my lover

You were my friend 

We were all the people 

The love we gathered 

Take me seriously this time 

I'll admit I want you to be mine 

For us to be the love of our lives

 No one cares about your pain, especially the people who caused it. I've learned that the hard way. Through decades of humiliation and suffering, writing stuff down to process it and even so not stopping the hurt and the damage they caused me. Life is all in vaon and in excruciating pain. 

 He saved me, he was everything to me and I fckd his peace up, because of my stupid obsession with answers and understanding what was going on with all that crap from everyone, plus his. Yeah, way to go 👌🏽🤡🤦🏽

txt on insta reels about Arts and Fashion exhibition

 - After weeks of mourning and deep depression, even getting to an anedonic state, though I tried a bit of the usual tricks to raise and balance the chemistry (watching comedies, eating dark chocolate, tell someone a bit of what happened, write stuff), I finally managed to go out on the streets and ended up finding this spectacle of exhibition. 'Arts and Fashion', got in with free admission and all empty at the end of the day at Gulbenkian (after communion with nature, reading in its park, of course). I remembered how someone wrote on a Fitzgerald book a dedication for me saying something like to remember there's always beauty even if it's not when we first look. So I really thought this avalanche of beauty would fulfill the aesthetic needs and bring back to something a bit of recognizable of myself. I don't know if it did, I think only a little bit as I found myself recognising from afar so many styles, designers and painters, epochs and techniques. I do know I got disturbed thinking and questioning everything, also in an avalanche mode, in terms of the exploitation, absurdity, slaughters and slavery, triggered right at the beginning by a dress with whale beards. 

Anyway, fugetaboutitttt! Just sharing the 'en passant' one click registers in case you like to see this kind of artefacts. Have a great week, wishing you beauty too and a break to appreciate it, whether it's in nature or in man-made stuff. 

Being a child

 Being a child 

She never made us feel special 

Or anything like a priority 

She never celebrated us

Not even in Children's Day

She just saw us as a burden

Someone who was in the way

Of her supposed glory life

Being a child 

Should never feel like a guilt

And we like a burden to keep

...