you deserve the kind of love that feels like sunlight through your window.

life keeps teaching the same lesson in different disguises: everything you love will either change or end, and you must learn to stay.

that even beauty, if looked at too long, starts to decay.

what it's like to live with depression by tania galakhova

somewhere inside us lives a small, unburied sorrow that refuses to rot. we feed it poems, songs, sunsets and it grows into the only thing that ever truly feels alive.

stop. choose the one thought that gives life. the singular truth. hold it in your mind until it burns away the lesser things. let it be the first and last word of your day. it is the turning of the face toward goodness, a deliberate act of starving the shadows until they are

there are people you will never stop loving, but you will stop waiting for them. and that quiet shift will break you more deeply than the leaving ever did.

you can destroy the libraries, but not the hunger that built them.

grief has no language because it is older than speech. it is the first silence that followed the first loss, the one our hearts never stopped trying to translate.

and still, everything repeats: the musician quoting the poet, the poet stealing from scripture, scripture stealing from the wind. culture survives by rumor. by accident. by the trembling persistence of someone, somewhere, who cannot bear the emptiness of not making something.

your absence feels like the melancholy that hums like a half-remembered lullaby.

you spend years learning how to explain yourself. then one day you’re in front of someone who would have understood the silence. but you talk anyway.

the smell of rain often brings her back.

a life well-lived is measured by the courage to keep planting seeds in storms.

what noise have you permitted to build a throne in your skull?

and yet every tree that reaches heaven first humbles its roots into hell. you cannot bloom without burial.

when you feed on chaos, it teaches you what you are not. when you feed on truth, it reveals what you still might be. the blood goes out, the blood comes back—changed by what it touched, tested by what it carried. so too your heart, when it faces goodness long enough, forgets how

https://t.co/Pj8GgcRBq9

god! how softly the heart lies, and how sweetly the lie pretends to be truth?

be aware— for sincerity flatters best when worn sparingly. thus nothing ages faster than a heart too eager to appear wise.