“I loved her, though!” “Until you didn’t; that’s not love. Either you didn’t love her, or you didn’t love her.”
Look at you. You’re young. And you’re scared. Why are you so scared? Stop being...– Louise Flory
I’m sipping tea and you’re far away. Even on the map, it’s further than I can spread my fingers. An elevator door slides shut without a sound. A white-bearded man walks by with echoing words on his shirt. A Thousand Years. There’s a bucket in the middle of the hallway picking up the ceiling’s slack. In his closet, he has Converse covered in mud, piss and beer (none of...
But Paris was a very old city and we were young and nothing was simple there,...– Ernest Hemingway, A Moveable Feast (via dontwaitforasign)
"Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels."
Regardless of how untrue this is, skinny does not always feel like happiness (as they’d have you believe). It’s okay to indulge in happiness, whatever form it may come in.
i had no way to tell you how beautiful you are. so i kissed you. it was selfish, but it was the best my lips could hope to do.
sometimes i think about the windshield he didn’t go through. and how close (the light of) my life came to ending, saved by a seatbelt he didn’t always wear. and that — count it: one, two, three, four — seconds after i kicked the door open, the heavens opened up. a half minute sooner, then the glass might have been more than traced with spiderweb compression-cracks. i...
We yearn for the past because its beauty can be sealed, with clarity, behind glass and placed on a desk (or mantle, wall, in a wallet, or the second dresser drawer). The future is an abyssal unknown, but it’s the thinking about what was that threatens to drown us as the nostalgia fills our lungs and squeezes our throat. Maybe, then, we ought to remember that our universe still exists as we...
The most precious gift we can offer anyone is our attention.– Thich Nhat Hanh (via kari-shma)
In hell you’re always in love with nothing to love, and something hates you...– Charles Bukowski (via homosexualheartthrob)
we're not afraid of the dark;: 15 Ways to Stay... →
honeyspider: Offer the wolves your arm only from the elbow down. Leave tourniquet space. Do not offer them your calves. Do not offer them your side. Do not let them near your femoral artery, your jugular. Give them only your arm. Wear chapstick when kissing the bomb. Pretend you don’t know English. Pretend you never met her. Offer the bomb to the wolves. Offer the wolves to the zombies....
Eleanor of (Motherfucking) Aquitaine
Let’s list some of the reasons why Eleanor is fucking amazing: Despite living a century short of a millennium ago, she was very well-educated, speaking multiple langues and being extremely knowledgeable of literature. As a female during the middle ages, she was taught to fucking hunt. And she was damn good at it too. At the age of 15 she became the Duchess of Aquitaine — no big...
The car ride was painful. It’s new, having you drive, but being on your right wasn’t what made the air so awkwardly still. Sitting between us, wedged into the bitch seat (which is never truly large enough to accommodate a third person), was those words you spat at me over the phone and the responses I refused to give you. I can’t read your fucking mind or play your games with...
When you’re alone with yourself, remember you can always call me. I’m awake until 2 a.m. regularly, and I would gladly wake up at any time of night to take a call from you. If you need me to, I’ll kiss your fingertips and list off all of the ways in which society isn’t fucked up (so you can meditate on a few of humanity’s saving graces). Between you and I, we can lay...
beautiful, cruel woman. a femme fatale. a force to be reckoned with. she gets what she wants (she knows this and so do you). there’s nightshade on her lips ( you kiss them). you will be broken by her aspartame heart ( poison never tasted so sweet). against a daughter of Circe, you never stood a chance. against her, fate.
I caught you trying to steal the ocean and immediately recognised the mirrored folly in that. The sea would never be your comforting blanket to warm you on cold nights, glass carpet to dance across as the music plays softly or lover’s lips to kiss roughly in secret. No, before you could sneak it in through the window it would swallow you up and spit you back out when you had learned your...
When you set up secret tests for those around you, they fail sometimes (and leave you disappointed).
Trust Us: They are atoms in the void,mostly... →
estelioxammen: They are atoms in the void, mostly space, flitting in and out of perception like flashes of cosmic dust, glued together by swirling star patterns. They are always changing, shifting, their faces are bright as the Milky Way. Interesting to study, maybe worth it to understand something I will never need. But you are solid. A constant, you do not shift. Here, a warm...
foundoceans: I told you I was running. you told me you’d be waiting.
foundoceans: sometimes you have to leave sometimes you have to make surpris ing twists and turns skip unnecessary lines so you can come back. otherwise, would we ever know what was worth having, if we never went without? How can we love something if we do not also take time to miss it?
Find out the reason that commands you to write; see whether it has spread its...– Rainer Maria Rilke (via acollectionofsleeplessnights)
I don’t know where home is; right now “home” feels like that goofy photo of us taken not that long ago*. It’s a fond memory, it’s the past, it’s all but gone. *It feels like forever ago because I know how long we will be apart, like premature nostalgia.
Here’s to us! Who’s like us? Damn few! -Sondheim
lightningtheraintransformed: You sang softly to me your sweet melodies, planting seeds of hope to grow out into astral fields of sky blue.
There is something wrong. Suddenly, the only verse I can compose is dedicated to you and your perfect words. Your silly smirk and the lips I want to kiss. Deeper meanings, philosophy, breathing and simple logic may as well be dead languages. I want something beautiful and rushed, something that doesn’t make sense. I’ve never been much of a pyromaniac, but I’m itching to pour...
As we Conspired
allthathasledushere: If there’s an infinite number of parallel universes, as they say, then surely there’s one in which I can carry a pitch, you don’t feel the compulsive need to put tiny, knotted braids into my already unmanageable hair, and one where you and I are the sisters we’ve always claimed to be.
depths of inky seas: To a friend →
estelioxammen: I wish I was by your side as you wring your slender wrists and worry yourself too thin. I would wrap my arms around your waist and press my love into the space between your neck and your shoulder. I would whisper to you about how your frame saved me, how the curve of your hips and the space between your thighs and your collarbone remind me that everyone has insecurities, even...
Letters to impossibilities: Warnings →
ponderingcomplications: There’s something you ought to know if ever you decide to hold my hand - I am as wild as the ocean waves that crash and dance upon the sand. My soul is far too wild, dear, and it is like that of a growing flame - I hardly care to reign it in, and prefer to leave it untamed. My heart is not crimson, love, it is ebony, and it’s only ink I’ll bleed. I won’t falter in love...
Don’t ever ever ever confuse shooting stars with falling stars. There is a difference between falling into place and falling out of grace.
Topless Nostalgia: as topless as it gets →
toplessnostalgia: everyday we ate fish and chips in town, at the place by the lighthouse. we’d never tasted anything better (albeit it being our favourite dish), we added ketchup and malt vinegar. that’s how summer smelt to us, and to me what its essence is. after, we’d let heaven digest in the golden sand and mist, as the dogs of tourists panted happily and ran all around. i’ve always thought,...
Things I Like
a-sleepyconscience: I like things that break (into pieces) and burn (into ashes) — I like you.
You were looking for an unsolvable puzzle, a question, with an elusive answer, leaving only mystery in its wake. Quite frankly, I’m not the sphinx and I ran out of stupid riddles a long time ago. All I’ve got left are answers (and you don’t really want to hear any of them).
I don’t believe shooting stars can change fates or barter with destiny, but I saw one last night and no “wish” came to mind.
estelioxammen: How dare Time do this to us? Can’t he see that this is too special of a thing to be ripped apart by the cruel, invasive fingers of growing up? This sucks. I don’t have to peace of mind to put words down into pretty, lilting sentences. That’s okay, though. I’ll make a funny face and you’ll know exactly what I’m trying to say. I will tattoo a reminder of us behind my ear, so...
Dear Liz, Thank you. For everything. For the little things. For waking up far too early in the morning so that you could wish me a happy birthday in the form of chalked writing on the window. It was from you that I learned about being fearless and keeping beautiful words on hand (or, rather, on the wall). You warded off my demons more times than I can count. I never had to ask. We’re...
In Meaningful Ways: Shakira →
allthathasledushere: “I’ll be there and you’ll be near/and that’s the deal, my dear.” She slides into the car and we blast the music. Loud, obnoxious, intoxicating. We sing along, rarely harmonizing. My voice magnificently off key, I’m shouting nonetheless, and hers simply in tune. Lyrics pour out of us and mix with the pounding of the bass. And that is how I want to remember her, ...
lightningtheraintransformed: We found each other young just wading in love so innocently not knowing that sorrow was waiting in the wings for the wake of old.
depths of inky seas: Dear H. You were always... →
foundoceans: Dear H. You were always worth more than a few forced kisses; deserved more than b r e a t h i n g used, stale oxygen. (…he was too trapped in his own fear to see where he was splitting you at the seams.) You’ll meet someone worth his salt, both deserving of...
Sharing air was enough for you, I am a musician and storyteller. breathing in the same room, Breaths are saved for the end of being. phrases and dramatic pauses. You only wanted You didn’t get it. the air in my lungs ...
I Once Dated A Writer and
ofheightsandhollows: Writers are forgetful, but they remember everything. They forget appointments and anniversaries, but remember what you wore, how you smelled, on your first date… They remember every story you’ve ever told them - like ever, but forget what you’ve just said. They don’t remember to water the plants or take out the trash, but they don’t forget how to make you laugh....
foundoceans: Titillating darkness, undulating unseen peaking in swirling, salty whispers. Níl na bealaí d’aois atá caillte, wet your toes, my love, in the deep. Wave-crest mist graces your lips left from a selkie’s missed kiss. Riamh fret, mo ghrá, never fret. The ocean only sings with evil tongues when nightmares right through its depths.