Breathe, keep breathing. Don't lose your nerve" -

Page 304: Sometimes (part 32)

/ Sunday, November 29, 2015 /
Hope will always be this elusive captivating vortex for her
– some kind of gate that can drag anyone to an enigmatic realm where reality can kill dreams in a heartbeat and serves them on a plate to feed each damaged starving soul.

She weaves the safety net to keep her away from it, even from its gleam.
She has preserved memories in a jar where she can taste a few drops of mirth when she needs it 
– the timidity that helps her to survive.

Sometimes, she closes her eyes as her heart whispers to an image of him, 
“You will always be a ghost flickering behind my eyelids when I sleep*. 
You're the myth I chose to keep.”

*from a prose written by Kriz of jktxnyc

Page 303: The Hourglass

/ Thursday, November 5, 2015 /
I can see the fear in her eyes
and the pain every time a new tear glided on her cheek,
the rage when she was describing the incident
and the shame when she was blaming herself for horrible thing that happened to her.

I kept telling her over and over that it’s not her fault. The one who must be blamed is her rapist. I hugged her and said that is going to be okay – the mother of all white lies, the thing that I can’t actually promise. Told her that there are still good people who are willing to help her and care about her. That she needs to keep filling the hourglass with the spirit to continue her life and fight for her future. That it’s not the end.

She looked at herself in the mirror. She said she’s afraid that the hourglass couldn’t contain all rage and despair and agony she has, and it will break.
It will break eventually.

Page 302: To Be Known

/ Thursday, September 17, 2015 /
 "I go on dates with men who are nice and good-looking and smart – perfect-on-paper men who make me feel like I’m in a foreign land, trying to explain myself, trying to make myself known. Because isn’t that the point of every relationship: to be known by someone else, to be understood? He gets me. She gets me. Isn’t that the simple magic phrase?

So you suffer through the night with the perfect-on-paper man – the stutter of jokes misunderstood, the witty remarks lobbed and missed. Or maybe he understands that you’ve made a witty remark but, unsure of what to do with it, he holds it in his hand like some bit of conversational phlegm he will wipe away later. You spend another hour trying to find each other, to recognise each other, and you drink a little too much and try a little too hard. And you go home to a cold bed and think, That was fine. And your life is a long line of fine.”  

- Gillian Flynn, Gone Girl

I'm scared of Amy Dunne, but to be honest, some part of me admires her as well.

Page 301: Current Addiction (Part 18)

/ /
The National


Pink Rabbits

Some random opinion: this is a perfect companion for The Book of Bunny Suicides

Page 300: Anger

/ /
“You sound like an angry feminist,” he said, after we talked about how society is still more lenient on men when it comes to expressing sexuality and showing the rights to our bodies.

About rape and victim blaming.
About street harassment.
About being pro-choice.
About slut and prude shaming.
About how sometimes we lie about having boyfriend because some men don’t understand “no, I’m not interested in you. Period” when they ask us to go out on a date. Seriously, are we some kinda things that should have owners and when we’re single it means that we’re available?

“Maybe I am. I have the right to be angry. I just wish that someday my anger would contribute to change things I’m frustrated with,” I said.

image courtesy: http://www.terre-des-femmes.ch/en/

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