The first was at 2am, sheets sticking to our skin, sharing a pillow,
“tell me another secret”,
The twenty third time was on a highway four hundred miles later. You held my face, the sun with butterflies, the sky with pink. I felt the world spinning around its invisible axis, the solar system around its visible star, my heart dizzy from your gravity.
The seventy seventh time was when you came pouring out like a waterfall onto my toes. Give it all to me baby, the entire river, the flow and crash. I can take it. I can count so much higher.
The one hundred and tenth time was when you took it all away from me. Left my mouth gaping, a vacuum trying to suck you back in. I fell in love with you as you were leaving, fell in love with what I’d miss.
Fell in love with the face I kissed for the last time two days ago without knowing it.
The one hundred and twelfth time was in the mouth of another man calling me baby. “you’re mistaken, I was not born in you, I was born in blue eyes that are blinking somewhere else now”.
And shit, I fell in love with you just a moment ago, naked in your arms again, glutinous in how much of you I take, hoarding each moment I get in your arms, keeping them in the caves of my memory in case I’m forced to hibernate again.
I’ve known you for six hundred and something days, loved you in three hundred and something of them. Some days I spend worrying about finances and the state of the world, some days I spend locked in my room listening to Radiohead albums on repeat, some days I smoke too much and some days I sleep through to take a break from being awake. But some days I experience the in-between of miracles and magic. Some days I lose myself entirely, all because you exist. Some days you look at me and I forget my name. I fall in love over and over, again and again, adding another tally to the wall.
I’ve been alive for seven thousand and something days, most of which were mundane. Most of which were wasted. Some of which were spent falling in love with you, in your voice and in your fingertips, in your eyes and in your stride, in your presence and in your absence.
Over and over.
Again and again.
With infinite tallies on a wall."
Magic Numbers by Stevie Lorann (via caelums)
Jennifer Schaffer, A Checklist For The Age 19 (via perfect)
I asked her for a piece of advice. She reached in her purse, pulled out a piece of paper, and handed it to me. It said this:
Life isn’t fair, but it’s still good. Life is too short— enjoy it. Cry with someone. It’s more healing than crying alone. Make peace with your past so it won’t screw up the present and the future. It’s OK to let your children see you cry.
Don’t compare your life to others. You have no idea what their journey is all about. If a relationship has to be secret, you shouldn’t be in it.
Take a deep breath, it calms the mind. Everything can change in the blink of an eye. It’s never too late to be happy. But it’s all up to you and no one else. When it comes time to go after what you love in life, don’t take no for an answer. Burn the nice candles, use the nice sheets, wear the nice lingerie, wear the nice clothes. Don’t save it for a special occasion. Today is special.
Over prepare, then go with the flow. No one is in charge of your happiness but you. Frame every so-called disaster with these words: ‘In five years will this matter?’ Always choose life. Forgive but don’t forget. Time heals almost everything. Give time, time. However good or bad a situation is, it will change. All that truly matters in the end is that you loved.
If we all threw our problems in a pile and we saw everyone else’s, we’d grab our’s back. Envy is a waste of time. Accept what you already have, not what you need. Yield. Friends are the family we choose. Life isn’t tied with a bow, but it’s still a gift.
This was on the Humans of New York Facebook page. Not mine, but amazing advice for everything. This is so great, you have to read it! (via f-abulush)
Albert Camus, from The Stranger (via violentwavesofemotion)
Robert Creeley, from For Diane (via budddha)
Brian Andreas, Story People (via roomtemperaturedlovers)
One of the first things I learned in grade school
is that I have five senses, but I feel nothing.
What a peculiar feeling that is to feel – ‘nothing.’
I lay in my bed and stare through the cracks of closed blinds
and a million new poems flow through my head making my mind dizzy like all of those times I got high. Sometimes I’ll do the things that make me feel alive
like clipping my toenails and folding the same pile of laundry that has been on my bed for a week.
I used to dream of falling in love with a person whose favorite food is breakfast and likes to wrestle in bed.
Last night I dreamed that I was being chased by a snake.
People who feel nothing don’t fall in love."
and i’ll call this one nothing (via zanetbh)
chew your name and it tastes like
pecans and milk and
never written a poem about
you kissed of thunder or
how your fingers were
against my skin, God, we could have
built cities, we could have started
but even Mt. Olympus
had it’s fall and even the stars forget
why they are burning"
i.i. (via irynka)
there is a women in China holding a black umbrella so she
won’t taste the salt of the rain when the sky begins to weep,
there is a 17 year old girl who smells like pomegranates and has summer air tight on her naked skin, wrapping around her scars
like veins in a bloody garden, who won’t make it past tomorrow,
there is a young man, who buys yellow flowers for the woman
in apartment 84B, who learned braille when he realized she
couldn’t read his poetry about her white neck and mint eyes
there are people watching films,
making love for the first time, opening mail with the
heading of ‘i miss you’, cooking noodles with
organic spices and red sauces, buying lemon detergent,
ignoring ‘do not smoke’ signs, painting murals
of his lips in abandoned warehouses, chewing
the words ‘i love you’ over and over again, swallowing
phone numbers and forgotten birthdays, eating
strawberry pies, drinking white wine off of each
others open mouths, ignoring the telephone,
reading this poem
someone is thinking
someone finally understands
they never really
(poems from my uncles graves)
E. H. (via perfect)