“Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was a hobbit-hole, and that means comfort.”
id: a watercolor painting of the hobbit hole from the hobbit. its door is green and circular, tucked into a grassy hill. there is a small bench by the door, and a faint pathway leads to a gate and fence. it is sunny and peaceful. end id
the thing was that you hadn’t meant to change, but it’s so easy for you to backslide. to be perfect for them. you wanted to be loved, right? your whole life, haven’t you had to earn that love? doesn’t love have to come from some sacrifice to yourself? you can carve it out of your bone marrow if you have to. you will make yourself into the most beautiful rendition of their desires.
it is so strange, because you wake up, and you know that you are shifting, but you cannot stop the change. you just give up and give in, over and over again. you tell yourself that today is the last day that you will be so gentle. but you will be gentle every day, because this is how you were made.
you have a lot of empathy for sandcastles. something about the way that they are shaped by hands and wind and waves.
life is for taking therapeutic walks and being in your own bubble and reading books in bed and drinking iced beverages and eating fruit and gaining new experiences and dozing in sunlight and finding love in everything and not letting guilt consume your life actually
you’re not for everyone. so what. literally so what. you still have people who will always love you & whom you mean the world to. and you also have yourself. you’re not missing out, they are
