March 2012
73 posts
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Do people ever really heal from heartbreak?
Sometimes there is a sadness in her eyes I don’t quite understand, and I am held back, from an access to a pain I have no claim to, from a hurt that I do not know.
She will not share herself,
And
I do not want to share her.
I think it stems from her having lost the love of her life.
But she is mine
and now the sadness in her eyes too, belongs to me.
highonflowers:
etie:
i should never drink coffee i feel like my eyes are bleeding out of my head and it’s too hot now
i always look so good when i have too much coffee, my cheeks and my lips get fabulously red and my eyes very clear and who cares that my heart is running out of my chest
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Early morning thoughts
It’s five in the morning and I’m sitting at my table armed with a cup of coffee some notes a weary head and cloudy eyes from too little sleep. The woes of a student — half of me is ready to take this somewhere else, even if I’m not quite sure what that is. The other half looks to a prospect of being in the same place as you at the same time. But mostly I think about the way...
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“If I knew where
I was going next,
I wouldn’t be taking so many naps,
or...”
– Anna (Topographe), “A poem about being lost” (via slategraysmiles)
Brush the dust off of memories from last summer and examine them in the spring light.
(via topographe)
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Hard heart
There’s a melancholia in the air tonight that has manifested itself into a boulder sitting on my chest. It doesn’t stem from anything, there is a strange stability and constant contentment in my life lately unlike I’ve ever experienced before. And yet-I suppose there is the fear of more to lose.
The words don’t come easy to me tonight. The moon is out of sight, and the...
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we are in love but love makes me crazy.
warsanshire:
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this is where love comes to die
i say, pointing to my body.
all my friends laugh
they think i’m joking.
the sun is a yellow sari hanging on my neighbours clothes line.
this is how easily electric turns ordinary
this is how miracle becomes mundane
this is how all our phone conversations end with your tired voice begging
please, just stop crying.
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“And what if I stay?”
“You will find yourself destroyed by grief....”
– Oranges Are Not The Only Fruit, Jeanette Winterson
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