<![CDATA[rii]]>https://thewhimsicalmeow.substack.comhttps://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/$s_!wi1x!,w_256,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2F07d9dec1-e377-400c-bd40-6bcb08173f02_735x1302.jpegriihttps://thewhimsicalmeow.substack.comSubstackSun, 26 Jul 2026 15:31:29 GMT<![CDATA[My love is a form of self-harm]]>https://thewhimsicalmeow.substack.com/p/my-love-is-a-form-of-self-harmhttps://thewhimsicalmeow.substack.com/p/my-love-is-a-form-of-self-harmWed, 01 Jul 2026 10:03:04 GMTIt is known to most people that loving someone is a brave thing to do, and I have always been called a brave person. I have the capacity to love anyone and everyone, and sometimes my own capacity terrifies me as well. What would I do to make sure that the person I love is happy and living well? I don't know. Probably a lot of things. Would I kill myself for it? Yes. I have died with my heart in my hands several times to quench the thirst of the people that I loved with its blood. Was it always romantic? No. I only know one way of loving, and the kind of love I experience does not really matter. Keeping them happy matters to me even more than my own happiness because seeing them happy is what makes me happy.

Does it not hurt? It does. I have twisted and wrung my heart dry, but somehow it still carries hope. The hope that one day, maybe one fine day, I will not be so hurt anymore. That maybe one day my love will find such a person who will make me want to be truly brave for my love now is an act of cowardice. It is self-harm on an emotional level.

It is my desperate attempt at destroying myself because I am too afraid to kill myself.

I have never asked to be loved back. How can I? I never thought I deserved it in the first place. And what difference would it even make to ask for it? Would the universe or life be kind enough to give it to me? I have always begged to have a love that is mutual, but I have never received it.

I have always looked at love like how a kid looks at cotton candy, and my fate has always been that of a child begging for it to their parents, but their parents refusing it.

Ironically, in this intimate game of fate and desire, no one has been as cruel to me as my own heart. No matter what, it loves again, and again, and once again, carrying the hurt and hope from tbe last time as if one day it all will change, though it never does. It all ends in the same way - me in my bed alone with my feelings. How can I ever ask to be loved back, when I cannot even control my own heart with its foolishness?

]]><![CDATA[The colour of love? I think it is red, too.]]>https://thewhimsicalmeow.substack.com/p/the-colour-of-love-i-think-it-ishttps://thewhimsicalmeow.substack.com/p/the-colour-of-love-i-think-it-isSun, 24 May 2026 18:44:14 GMTSomething so cruel about the existence of a love that is never returned.
And there exists no one crueler to me than myself.
It's always the same.
I break myself down to meet expectations of those who never saw me coming their way. Those who didn't want me coming their way, rather.
So even though I try, I can never truly meet those said expectations. Because it isn't me that they want in the first place.
I always know how it is going to go, but I still hold out hope in my heart like a child.
And in the end, I sit there with all the love that was never accepted, nor returned, not knowing where to put it.
In the end, I mourn the loss of something that did not even belong to me in the first place.
Love which is unrequited is love that is handed over to you in its purest, most natural form.
It's like someone handing you a rose with it's thorns intact. Just the way nature made it, without any modifications from the outside world.
You love the person despite knowing they will never love you back.
And that's a beautiful thing to do.
Because being loved is a privilege, but so is to be able to love.

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