And here we have an important point: our existence is too big to fit into just a single body, doesn’t matter its size. Your life is there, scattered around you, impregnating everything you ever touched, stepped on, loved, hated. This is why it’s so hard to get rid of what bothers you. Encage a feeling inside doesn’t work if it is also outside you, insinuating itself in many ways, material or not. You just need to look closely and you’ll see the reasons for your anxiety calling your attention, with strobe light and loudspeakers, in each person, each object.
Excerpt from All Things Inexistent

The little book of nightmares #1

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On grudges

"I don’t know why you hold that grudge."
"Oh don’t you? It’s just because I needed to hold on to something after you left me falling."

— e.lisitsa

On colors

Incarnation #437:
"Mom, I want a pink dress!"
"Pink, honey? Pink isn’t for girls. Don’t you want a blue one, like Dorothy or Alice?"
Resigned, the girl accepted the blue dress.

Incarnation #438:
"I want a blue dress, mom."
"Blue, honey? Blue isn’t for girls. Don’t you want a pink one, like Barbie?"
The girl sighed, kicked the rack to the ground, and walked over the sea of pink dresses, screaming that she would only come back for another life when humans finally decide on something.

— e.lisitsa

Spring is just
all ego among the flowers
But it was just the rain coming

On spring

— e.lisitsa

He For She - Movement for gender equality

It is time for men to start trading this false notion of privilege imposed by a crushing society, which feeds itself from unbalance and unfairness, by the real benefits that gender equality brings to all of us.

And it is also time for us men to understand that feminism isn’t about women ruling over men, but women affirming their right to not be ruled.

accidentalchemy replied to your post: On farewell

Beautiful 💜

Thank you :)

On farewell

She decided then to send it all to hell:
the good night was a greeting, the good morning a farewell.

— e.lisitsa

One of those days when I feel alive in some thirty different dimensions.
Tall, wide, and deep as far as my imagination can go.

On dimensions

— e.lisitsa

The water slipped through his fingers until nothing was left but fragile oblique drops, no match for the dry weather of winter. And when the last trickle went down the back of his hand, he recalled this was the same feeling as when her hair strands were the ones escaping, each time he caressed her nape.
He just wished he could have then, when it was her hair slipping through his fingers, the same notion that nothing is forever, and that at some point his hands would be dry and empty again.


Unfinished lives #22

— e.lisitsa

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