In fifteen years I want you to write me a list of every feeling you found after emptiness,
every moment you cried just with being alive,
every hand you held that felt like home.
Tell me how you stitched together the void
without the aid of needles and scissors
but the thread of melodies your best friend hummed
walking home on the last day of sun, poems
you read for no one but felt beat in your heart
until they found the ears of someone
who would hold them and whisper these promises
in the dead of night from their lips to your wrists.
In fifteen years,
show me the atlas of your scars.
Do not let the universe escape you,
vessel of the stars.
— Finn Butler, “Other Feelings To Find” (via finnualabutler)
In reality, hope is the worst of all evils, because it prolongs man’s torments.
— Friedrich Nietzsche (via wordsthat-speak)
