Panicking doesn’t improve your situation. Neither does his promise of getting you out of this. Can his words string themselves together to pull you back to shore? The waves seem to be more decided as to what to do with you than that of his fickle mind. He told you he’s going to get you out of this, trust that still. Cling to it. No one’s ever been saved from the waters with only babbles of hope, but maybe this would be the first.

"You’re not the only one suffering here!" he tries to shout from the sand where he is standing. Then how come he hasn’t jumped in with you yet? It’s like an “I feel for you” with an awkward silence afterwards and a “Now what?”

If he ever does jump in, find the energy to cling your strained arms around his neck. Finally he’s doing something to really get you out of this.

Panic.

Push down.

just let it go

just let it go

“A certain type of perfection can only be realized through a limitless accumulation of the imperfect.” 

“A certain type of perfection can only be realized through a limitless accumulation of the imperfect.” 

An Illustration of Your Hands

An Illustration of Your Hands

If the olive trees knew the hands that planted them
Their oil would become tears 

If the olive trees knew the hands that planted them

Their oil would become tears 

Your hands are meant to move the world and nothing less. Don’t let anyone make you believe otherwise.

It is meant to let your cheek rest on it to let him know he bores you, meant to be clenched and pumped up to the air for every war cry against their belittlement.

It is meant to mend the cracks of your overtrusting heart when you happen to let someone else’s hands carelessly mold it only to eventually break it. Only you know how to handle you.

They think you are too fragile and you only deserve gentle touches. But too much friction from all these caresses will soon sting. They might as well sharpen your edges while they’re at it. As if you haven’t already done it yourself.

touched

touched

I’d be lying if I said I wouldn’t want these scars off of my skin. I look at the mirror each day and I always think of a seesaw with insecurity and acceptance on each end, and they’re never parallel.
But you have seen me at my rawest, at my most vulnerable, at times when all my scars are exposed, and with you, with all these things you do, with the way you overlook my imperfections, these scars possibly make me feel even more loved than a flawless being. These scars fade when you hold me, darling.

I’d be lying if I said I wouldn’t want these scars off of my skin. I look at the mirror each day and I always think of a seesaw with insecurity and acceptance on each end, and they’re never parallel.

But you have seen me at my rawest, at my most vulnerable, at times when all my scars are exposed, and with you, with all these things you do, with the way you overlook my imperfections, these scars possibly make me feel even more loved than a flawless being. These scars fade when you hold me, darling.