𝓌𝓇𝒾𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓃𝒷𝓎𝒶𝓁𝑜𝓃𝑒𝓇

@smileonsolana_ 5NNMojLXbx3ULGueeBpCk6wKckQ96MWFzDq7NaSpmAHk

SMILE is launching tomorrow March 24 To avoid snipers, no launch time will be shared The airdrop campaign is still live. Send 0 SOL to 2sE41aTzqrbHpXbmrUMAAgAZ6jfZWCwGuWdBy3QDSJvc Bot filtration Fill out the form ignore form if you already filled docs.google.com/forms/u/0/d/1g…

@Lonngman_ Perhaps so💐

@__Dairo__ Perhaps it is in that same brevity that gives joy its true value. 🥀

“Will life ever grant us eternal happiness or are we only meant to touch it briefly, long enough to know it exits but never long enough to keep it”

I despise my own hypersensitiveness, which requires so much reassurance. It is certainly abnormal to crave so much to be loved and understood. - Anaïs Nin

Of all the ways to lose a person, Death is the kindest.

And if happiness should surprise you again, do not mention its previous betrayal. Enter into the happiness, and burst. - Mahmoud Darwish

No siren. No cosmic fine. Just you, alone, holding the bill. It really does feel unfair in a stupid, childlike way. Not metaphorically unfair. Playground unfair. The kind where someone hit you and the teacher did not see and now you are the one trying not to cry because if you do, you will get in trouble for “making a scene.” The adult version is quieter. You sit at your job or in your kitchen or on the bus, functional, presentable, and inside there is a small kid stamping their foot, wanting to scream, “They got away with it.” You swallow it. You smile. You forward the document. You wash the dishes. What makes it worse is how healing itself can feel like punishment. While you are working through the trauma, you have to walk back through it. Talk about it. Sit with it. Dissect it. You wake it up on purpose. You pull it into daylight because that is how it stops owning you. But it means that for a long time, you are living closer to the pain than they are. They get distance for free. You have to earn it layer by layer. And this is the part nobody wants to say out loud: sometimes you want them to hurt. Not in some abstract karma way. In a specific, petty way. You want their chest to clamp the way yours does when a certain song comes on. You want them to wake up with their heart racing at 04:11 and not know why. You want them to see their own reflection and feel the same nausea they put in your body. You do not even necessarily want them destroyed. You just want the scales to balance for a second. You want your suffering to show up somewhere other than your own bones. That urge scares you. You think it makes you ugly. It does not. It makes you human. When someone sets your insides on fire and walks away whistling, of course some part of you wants the flames to catch their clothes too. There is a cruel trick in all of this: while you are healing, you are becoming deeper. You are forced to learn things about yourself, about safety, about boundaries, about attachment, about what your body does under pressure. You become someone who understands panic from the inside out. Someone who knows what it costs to relearn trust. Someone who, eventually, might actually be kind in a way that is not fake or performative, because you remember exactly what it felt like when nobody was. They get to stay shallow if they want. They can skate over their own history and call it “the past.” They can keep playing the same patterns with new people. Maybe one day it will crack. Maybe they will finally have to look at themselves properly. Maybe not. You might never see that day. That is its own mourning. So you sit with the unfairness. You live in it. You wake up, hurt, and still go to therapy or journaling or whatever stupid tools you picked up because life did not leave you a choice. You relearn the basics: this is how to be touched. This is how to be alone without dissociating. This is how to be with people without swallowing yourself whole. the world keeps spinning like nothing happened. There is no neat moral here. No “one day it will all make sense.” Some things will never make sense. Some people will always have the luxury of walking away from wreckage they caused, and the universe will not drop a piano on their heads just because you are crying on the floor. But there is one quiet, uncomfortable truth you might feel in tiny flashes when you are not drowning: While they moved on cheaply, you had to rebuild expensively. Every piece you lay down in yourself now has weight. The way you notice red flags. The way you protect your own softness. The way you show up for people without erasing yourself. None of that came for free. They got to progress casually. You are learning how to be human on purpose.

It's not a good thing, you see. It's bad. My me is fading away. Who I am, what I stand for and who I want to be, are becoming a mere shadow of my true existence.

Muddy water is best cleared when left alone, sometimes the best thing to do is doing nothing at all.

@Maxigenius_ A brilliant mind, yes.

@__Dairo__ Charles Bukowski?

When nobody wakes you up in the morning, and when nobody waits for you at night, and when you can do whatever you want. What do you call it, Freedom or Loneliness?

@Lonngman_ So it would seem.

@__Dairo__ A little bit of both? I guess…

Of people, of places - Surfaces does not interest me - Depths do.

We all face death in the end. But on the way, be careful not to hurt a human heart.

I am a forest, and a night of dark trees: but he who is not afraid of my darkness, will find banks full of roses under my cypresses.

He who finds me has found a good thing, despite the madness…

The more a man knows, the more he sees that he is alone...