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oliviawhen:

Hello I’ve been super busy doing things I can’t share yet, so in the mean time please enjoy this self portrait gif.

Source: oliviawhen
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The knot in my heart is permanent. It aches when I see the summer skies being beautiful, when I listen to that song we had bonded over on lazy afternoons.It hurts most when I walk through crowded, broken footpaths, expecting a smile from strangers.
Missing is an understatement for the emptiness that swallows up my days and stretches the nights. I would cry, but there is something final about tears. They mean mourning, they mean an end.
This knot, it is here to stay. For better or for worse, life doesn’t really care.

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Realisations, lessons, experiences-all of this has melted down into one persistent end:
Life is hard, no matter how many careful choices and combinations you think through, and the best thing you can learn from it is how to smile while the world as you know it is falling apart. Because it’s always falling apart-in one way or the other. Think about it.

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"Oh and I don’t have a show to say,
Yes, and I sin every single day,
We never change, do we?
We never learned to leave."

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And for all its worth, life goes on . Zigzagging between remnants of human errors and water clogged alleys.
Life- it’s a stubborn little thing.

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You - you with your coffee whirlpools of questions and emptiness,that speak of measured hope and controlled emotions. You have become a definite, slanted mark in my list of regrets.
I’m used to marking regrets like you.Some have bled and scared, some have faded into specks of distant memories.
But you-you and your coffee whirlpools-they are different.
They were different.
I speak with the echos of the abandoned laughter of sun-glazed afternoons and shared silence of star gazing nights, as I pen this down.
Your words, spoken with the reckless abandon of an inexperienced soul, they have been my silver lining.I had saved them up for the gloom and sighs that have filled countless nights.
And you-you with your coffee whirlpools and tales of unrequited relationships, you have made a little pocket for your questions and exclamations in my soul.
I shall mark you as my regret tonight. A definite, slanted mark.
A coffee-coloured mark.
I shall remember the laughter along with the rigid pain, and I will whisper a thank you to the brightest star.
You have been a damned blessing . You and your coffee whirlpools .
That holds the world, that holds the emptiness.

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The view from the creaking gray window. Summer is smiling today.

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The winds are agressive, rampaging through her careful twists and curls. But she doesn’t mind, her eyes trace the barbed wires and her mind has flown a few hundred miles, into crowded streets and colourful alleys. Wuth each fierce burst of the monsoon winds her heart aches. The harder they blow, through dust worn leaves and empty pathways, the more it aches.There is laughter, there are memories being made, there is a little love here and there and promises of friendships that will soon fade in crowded street and colourful alleys.
But the emptiness never leaves . It’s always there, in all those laughter and memories.Heavy, dark and persistent.
It never leaves.Never.

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The winds, heavy with an agressive intent, rampages through her careful twist and curls. But she doesn’t mind.Her eyes trace the barbed wires and her heart flies a few hundred miles, into crowded alleys and colourful street corners.

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I’ve missed rickshaw rides and iced tea obsessions . I’ve missed your laughter and silent drives on familiar - unfamiliar roads . The love, the laughter, the food and Doby’s slobber-they haven’t filled my photo galleries in a long time.
My chechklists have remained untouched and my smiles have become a little empty.
My emotions have become a little over dramatic today and so have my words.But just this once . We’ll go back to our lives tomorrow.Your factory floors and my classrooms.

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"There are three things I won’t do in life: smoke a cigarette, sleep with a stranger and get married to you."

He smirked. His kind of smirk, born out of an ingrained sense of reckless abandon, carved out of cynism.
“The last two are pretty much the same.”

She lied there without a reply, allowing the distant blares of 2am parties to sweep away the teasing silence.With eyes fixed on the stillness of the ceiling fan and lizards darting across cobwebbed corners, she memorised his presence.

Fingers the drew whimsical circles on her palm.Breaths exhaled in exhaustion, smelling of mint gums and coffee.The unconscious drumming toes, under the worn-out comforter, against her thighs . The heat of him, the smell of him, bringing back a handful of crisp April mornings and empty Dhaka streets. The rhythm of his breathing, ragged with asthma and corporate demands.

She knew all this . She remembered . But the constant foreboding of an oblivion, of a permanent end stormed in a corner of her head . Persistence and constant, like his drumming toes.
So she lay there, her nakedness covered by his heat and a shared comforter. And she memorised.

Collecting years in hours, counting infinities in moments.

"Years haven’t changed you," he said. His voice as light amd dreamy as the circles he drew on her skin.
“Neither you.Except for that receding hairline,” she spoke,masking the human ambiguity of heartache and happiness with practiced humour.

He laughed, “You’re beautiful. ”
She smiled, “I know right.”

He went back to drawing circles.She kept on gathering infinities.