It’s weird to grow up in a family where you know you’re loved but you don’t feel loved. And then later in adulthood you understand how almost impossible it seems to cross that distance and let yourself experience closeness, how otherworldly love feels now and how love feels unbearable at times. You flinch when someone tries to wholeheartedly love you. And over and over you see so clearly how you cannot be loved unless it’s from afar and love is mixed with that familiar sensation of distance and coldness.
when Florence Welsh said “What a thing to admit that when someone looks at me with real love I don’t like it very much / Kinda makes me feel like I’m being crushed”
you deserve people who listen to you ramble. you deserve people who love it when you’re excited, when you’re happy. you deserve people who check up on you and wish to see you well, people who not only accept you for who you are - but rejoice in it.
Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath // art by @/kosmiklia on ig // William Chapman // Virginia Woolf // Brian Andreas //artwork - flowersby Hanna Ilczyszyn // Elizabeth Kinkaid-Ehlers, Still Searching
