This May Shock The Viewer But I Actually Do Prefer The Temporary Violence The Bourgeoisie Will Suffer

this may shock the viewer but I actually do prefer the temporary violence the bourgeoisie will suffer in the event of a revolution over the unending and worse violence the working class suffers every day just to maintain the status quo

10 posts!

Yay me, lmaooo

Dear future lover,

Love is art

Laughter is music

And your name, my heartbeat.

I cry at pretty things

Witty words

And silly songs,

The footprints of humanity engraved in my soul.

I like the way rain falls

Or when wind hits my face,

When the sun shines just right

And when blankets keep out the cold.

I love gazing at stars,

Running barefoot in the grass

And pretending that fairies hide in mushrooms and flowers.

When I walk through the streets

And see the paw print of a dog

Or a dandelion growing between the cracks of the cement.

When I remember the way the earth spins

And the moon follows

And the way stars shine so bright.

When I hold dirt in my hands,

Or when I rub my face,

Or remember people long ago lived a life so similar to mine.

When I pluck a flower,

Throw a kiss to the sky

And feel the past dancing around my feet,

Dear Mother Nature hanging up the future overhead.

I collapse of joy into your arms,

And you hold my world of thoughts.

So when you love me,

True and dear,

Remember I'm not just a person

But an everloving being.

Is anyone else so angry at themself for all the time you've wasted not being yourself? I'm looking back to my days of perfectionism and academic validation, and I'm so pissed that I let myself go so low to just feel important. I've always been important. And it sucks that I took so long to figure it out.

My solitude is constant, loneliness my religion

Yet you were the god to which I prayed

To never be left alone.

- to that girl

Hope to see you soon, but not really

.

The music in a dancer's head never stops. Adya's never did, at least. Why would it? Why would she be ashamed of the vibrance that flowed through her like blood?

The dusty record shop on 5th Avenue reminded her of it. The dim lighting, wilted shelves, and ancient cashier were all lessons in the immortality of true passion.

Peace was too harsh of a word for a feeling so tender. Until the store bell rang.

The hair on her arms stood and she tensed instinctively in the silence. His thundering footsteps were hard to mistake.

"Hey, Addy." She turned. He offered a lopsided, quiet grin.

"Salem," she replied. Her heart sank. She wasn't sure which feeling would hurt more, sadness or anger.

"So... You still collect these things?" he asked awkwardly, gesturing to the boxes of discarded vinyls.

"I don't see why else I'd be here," she said pointedly. He flinched. "Unless you think I'd be fond of running into you?"

"I'd hope so?"

"That's unfortunate. I'm afraid you've become delusional."

He sighed, running his hand through his greasy, black hair. "Adya, I'm sorry. I know I messed up."

"Messed up? Is that it?" she laughed bitterly. "I trusted you and you used that trust to hit me where it hurt most."

"I know, I know. I shouldn't have done that but--"

"But what? Salem, just because all your high and mighty friends turned out to be frauds, doesn't mean you get to waltz back into my life like nothing happened!" she snapped. Her voice echoed in the empty shop. The cashier snored louder.

His face fell. "I just miss you. Miss what we had. Our friendship," he murmured pleadingly.

She snorted. "I knew you would eventually. I'm glad you're sorry. And I hope you find yourself good friends again. But you're not going to find it in me."

"Adya..."

"No. A sorry is never going to atone for the toll your words took on my life. A sorry isn't going to fix anything, Salem," she spat, jaw clenched.

"I hope to see you around, but I hope I never recognize you when I do."

"Adya, stop! Please!" he cried, reaching for her.

But she already slipped away. She was already out the door. And all he could do was stare as the best part of his life left him alone.

Writing prompt from @arina_writes on tiktok BTW ❤️