May 2013
15 posts
She pointed to the empty playground across the...
“Do you see that?”
“It’s an empty playground. Is it supposed to mean anything?”
“It means everything, Mike. Kids aren’t kids anymore.” She rested her head on my shoulder, and I almost pulled away. It was weird. She scooted closer, so I scooted closer too.
“Is this okay?” I draped my arm around her shoulder.
She nodded, her hair...
“She liked to hear the sound of my typewriter from the study downstairs. It was a...”
– John Banville, The Sea (via weaverofstars)
I’m going to want to shoot myself in the morning for going to sleep so late.
What if life was a pair of jeans-
and when they became worn out
Or no longer fit
You could switch them out
For another pair?
I think I know why women love diamonds-
because they stay beautiful.
They don’t wither under pressure
Or crack with uncertainty-
They simply stay
Beautiful
Flawless
And perfected-
The things we long for
But will never be.
“I was by myself for a pretty long time. I needed to do that. I think everyone...”
– Justin Vernon of Bon Iver, in an interview speaking about living in his father’s cabin for three months when writing For Emma, Forever Ago (via dulcetdecember)
behindmyteeth:
i will write my poems on your skin with my mouth, breathing each syllable onto each inch of your neck, forming constellations from your freckles, tracing the outline of your body against mine. we won’t need pens to write our poems anymore.
“Sometimes, I feel the past and the future pressing so hard on either side that...”
– Evelyn Waugh (via misfitwasteland)
Once I dated a pianist.
We met at a bar. He held a glass by his side and kept looking behind him. He looked bored. He caught me staring. He walked over.
“Hi,” he told me.
His eyes were lazy, his smile relaxed. His hair was messed up, like he hadn’t slept in days. “Hi,” I told him.
We didn’t talk a lot. No, rarely did we ever. He asked me out to things like art galleries...
“Let them miss you. Sometimes when you’re always available, they take you for...”
– (via naayr)
April 2013
11 posts
If you don't live for art, then why the fuck live...
Ruben, Back by Sunset
“You’ve got to be selfish with your life,” he told me. “You can’t spend your life searching for that special someone or waiting for them to realize your importance, because years will go by and the only thing left that’s yours is the residue of memories left on your fingertips and the ringing of their favorite songs in your ears.” He glanced at me, then...
Quench my Thirst for a Life I Never Knew I Wanted
I did not realize the tightness in my throat
Nor the dryness of my mouth
Until I Iifted the glass to my mouth
And tipped it up.
The cool liquid
Sent a frost feeling
To the tip of my tongue
And slicked down my throat-
Before I could even tell
I was gulping the water
Afraid it was magical
And would disappear
From my glass-
I never knew I was thirsty
Until I drank,
And continued to...
I just want to go far, far away.
Part of Back by Sunset
“Some people discuss their dreams without plans to reach them,” he explained to me. “You’ve got to know this. There are people with dreams stranded on ships that are sliding past the shoreline, clogged by the foggy air. As those dreams get further away, these people’s voices will turn to mumbles. They aren’t on that ship, honey. They may wave to it, but they ...
I'm off to college, and my best friend is off to...
I still don’t believe it.
My eyes stiffened in their sockets
And my lips moved with disbelief
As I read that article.
I squirmed in my seat
As the memories of our 1 o’clock phone calls
Poured into my brain
And shut it down.
I continue to sit here
With my eyes soft and
Heavy with skepticism
And regret
That my mother never
Made you those pancakes.
Something Happened.
I used to think that I had some type of control over my emotions. Well, maybe not control, but I could always find some sort of logic as to why I was feeling a certain way.
Her smile struck me like a target. Everything around her softened into a blur and it was as if the glow of her skin was radiating. She lulled me in like a magnet, and I remember accidentally bumping her...
March 2013
15 posts
Reunion.
Today felt like reuniting with you after a month, not a week and a half. My heart tweaked when I saw you, I swear. I heard it, felt it jolt in my chest. Gosh, I love it when you get haircuts. And your sideburns looked great. Wonderful. Amazing.
You know, you have this thing where you smile with your eyes. You did it a lot today and it was marvelous. You looked happy to see me, which was nice,...
i need a job that pays at least 10,000 dollars an hour
I wish I could go to a school out of state, like...
I’d receive the best damn education of my life, I know that’s for sure.
I've become so jittery lately.
Like, I can’t think straight. Not that I ever did before.. but at least my mind was organized. Now emotion burst from me like a swollen seam, and out of nowhere.
I walk down the hallway clutching my things and pushing through crowds without excusing myself because I simply just don’t give a damn anymore. But then, I step outside and see a wildflower and become overwhelmed with joy...
“Just remember that sometimes, the way you think about a person isn’t the way...”
– John Green, Paper Towns
DAMN IT I do this all of the time…
If I introduce a movie to you, and we watch it together, I’ll be spending at least 99.9% of the time watching you to make sure you are responding correctly to the film.
I have slept with the blanket you gave me for...
Thanks. I don’t know if I have ever told you this before, but I love that blanket. Every night, I make sure that I have it. It’s special to me.
Thank you.
Sorry.
Artists marry their work. They find conversation within brush tips dabbed in paint and they converse with the words they scribble on pages. They marvel at their work once it is complete, making love with their own egotistic thoughts as they toss in their sleep. An artist, you see, can never be yours. They are already taken.
I miss you.
I miss us, or moreso the way we used to be. Remember when we would always post about each other on here? When you would take me and kiss me forever? When we were happy, so happy, and we wanted nothing more than to be around each other 24/7? Yeah. I miss that.
A little part of something I'm working on.
Being crazy is okay, kind of. It is okay if you admit that you’re messed up. That’s the hardest part about it. It’s like its own little race, craziness- ‘Hi, I’m black, Asian, and crazy.’ It’s sort of like that, except you would never come out and tell someone that. It’s like hiding a chunk of yourself that you want no one else to see and hope no one will ever ask.
I was never called...
The Final Season of Our Friendship
I have lost my best friend.
I cannot properly mourn it
Because the rain is coming
And the flowers are blooming
And the sun is soaking
The gloom frozen from winter.
I can only grasp the pedals
Of our friendship
For so long,
Until those pedals
Wither beneath my fingertips
And shrivel from climate change.
Writing is my daily craving
It is my dessert topped off with root beer
My evening enriched by the gentleness of a new song
The tremble of my lover at midnight.
Powerful writing isn't found when you're being...
It is found when you take a roadtrip at two in the morning
Or when you sneak out and leave your keys.
The same goes with God,
for he is most likely found
in the hopelessness of hospital beds.
I built these walls.
They were grey like day-old snow
And thick, like your voice
When you mumbled beneath the sheets.
Laced, they were
With thorns of fear
And cracked with regret.
Along the sides were withered flowers
And pedals that should’ve fallen ages ago.
Yet they clung on,
Hoping to grasp some last few breaths
Of shitty life.
I built these walls for you.
You saw my walls
And yet you stayed.
You traced your...
“Look at a day when you are supremely satisfied at the end. It’s not a day when...”
– Margaret Thatcher
February 2013
10 posts
My writing has turned to shit.
I don’t focus on creativity anymore,
Just plot.
And the plot isn’t even worth focusing on,
Because it is shit.
Everything about my writing has turned to slop,
Like a soup left upon the stove overnight.
I hate my writing.
I hate it.
Everything sounds the same.
My words blur together like snowflakes
In a storm,
And I just think it is shit.
I wish I was better.
five reasons not to call him back
wildflowerveins:
i. you met when you were fifteen. he was seventeen and he was beautiful. there is truly no other word to describe it- he was beautiful. he had short brown hair and blue eyes ringed with black and plump red lips and cheek bones that could slice a finger and a jaw line to kill for. he had the type of face that could change a life. he had the type of face that changed yours. ...
look at this tangle of thorns.: Write about how he... →
divinexinsanity:
It was 10:43pm when he checked his phone. By then, she would have sent him a text message. She would have asked him how his day at work was. She would have filled his night with thoughts of her poppy-lipped smile and sheepish, chocolate-eyed winks in the transient-yellow light of warm, spring…
My biggest fear?
Not being good enough.
Is it bad that I appreciate my life? Is it bad...
I hate when people (other kids my age) give me a hard time for choosing not to waste my youth. I’m sorry that I’m not into drinking and drugs. Actually, I take that back. I’m not sorry at all. I feel like I am using my time to be productive. I set goals to reach my dreams because, well. I actually plan to reach them. I feel like so much of my generation just does things without...
The Suburbs (continued)
1 tag
Please make my night and come kiss me.
Even after dating you for over a year and a half, I still have these overwhelming cravings for you. I want you to kiss my arm and kiss my nose and cuddle me. I want to read while you hold me, and listen to cool music while I write and you play video games.
Sometimes I wish it was just you and me on this earth, even for only a few hours. I love you.
