“Last night I dreamed about you. What happened in detail I can hardly remember, all I know is that we kept merging into one another. I was you, you were me. Finally you somehow caught fire.”—Franz Kafka to Milena Jesenska, 1921 (via goldenfools)
“Love is what we are born with. Fear is what we learn. The spiritual journey is the unlearning of fear and prejudices and the acceptance of love back in our hearts. Love is the essential reality and our purpose on earth. To be consciously aware of it, to experience love in ourselves and others, is the meaning of life. Meaning does not lie in the things. Meaning lies in us.”— Marianne Williamson
“Being tender and open is beautiful. As a woman, I feel continually shhh’ed. Too sensitive. Too mushy. Too wishy washy. Blah blah. Don’t let someone steal your tenderness. Don’t allow the coldness and fear of others to tarnish your perfectly vulnerable beating heart. Nothing is more powerful than allowing yourself to truly be affected by things. Whether it’s a song, a stranger, a mountain, a rain drop, a tea kettle, an article, a sentence, a footstep, feel it all – look around you. All of this is for you. Take it and have gratitude. Give it and feel love.”—Zooey Deschanel (via sugar-and-heartbreak)
I love you. It’s really that simple. I have loved you for almost as long as I’ve known you. I wish I knew why. I wish I understood how I could love such an asshole. Someone who has made me feel so terrible at times that all I want to do is cry. Someone who has made me cry more times than I care to remember.
Yet here I am. In love with every piece of you. Your flaws and all of the perfect little things that you do. The fun times we had and all the fights. It’s impossible for me to stay angry with you. It kills me when we aren’t speaking. I’m sure you know all of these things but here I am; laying them all out for you and I know you’ll read this and call me crazy later. Its what you do. But right now I need to spill all of this out before my ribcage explodes.
I’m always going to love you regardless of the circumstances and the shitty situations we get ourselves into. I’m going to love you even when I’m mad at you and when you tell me I’m being stupid. I’m going to always love you for some crazy reason. So yeah I guess I really am crazy and stupid. So you’re right again. Good luck with everything. I am slowly getting to know her and as irritated as I get sometimes I know she’s what you need.
I have been sitting on my couch for the past two days. The doctor yelled at me and said I should have gone to the ER. Clearly I don’t pay enough attention to my unstable airway.
All this time at home is giving me a lot to think about, which if you know me isn’t really the greatest thing for me to be doing. Especially considering recent circumstances. I wish I could change things. I still want to.
I’m not giving up hope.
The winter I told you I think icicles are magic
you stole an enormous one from a neighbors drooping shingle
and gave it to me as a gift.
I kept it in my freezer for seven months
‘til the day I hurt my leg
and needed something to reduce the swelling.
isn’t always magic.
Sometimes it’s just melting.
Where it’s black and blue.
Where it hurts the most.
Last night I saw your ghost
peddling a bicycle with a basket
towards a moon as full as my heavy head
and I wanted nothing more
than to be sitting in that basket
like ET, with my glowing heart glowing right through
my chest, and my glowing finger
pointing in the direction
of our home.
Two years ago I said, “I never want
to write our break-up poem.”
You built me a time capsule full of Big League Chew
and promised to never burst my bubble.
I loved you from our first date
at the batting cages
when I missed twenty-three balls in a row
and you looked at me like I was a home run
in the ninth inning of the World Series.
Now every time I hear the word love
I think, going, going…
The first week you were gone
I kept seeing your hand wave goodbye
like a windshield wiper in a flooding car
in the last real moment I believed
the hurricane would let me out alive.
Yesterday I carved your name into the surface
of an ice cube then held it against my chest
‘til it melted into my aching pores.
Today I cried so hard the neighbors knocked on my door
and asked if I wanted to borrow some sugar.
I told them if I left my sweet tooth in your belly button.
isn’t always magic.
But if I offered my body to the magician,
if I told him to cut me in half
so after that I could come to you whole
and ask for you back
would you listen
for this dark alley love song?
For the winter we heated our home
from the steam off our own bodies?
I wrote you too many poems in a language
I did not yet know how to speak
but I know now
it doesn’t matter how well I say grace
if I am sitting at a table where I have no bread to eat.
So this is my wheat field.
You can have every acre, love.
This is my garden song.
This is my thunderstorm,
this is my fistfight with that bitter frost.
Tonight I begged another stage light
to become that back-alley street lamp we danced beneath
that night your warm mouth fell on my timid cheek
as I sang, “Maybe I Need You”
but in tune.
Maybe I need you the way that big moon
needs that open sea.
Maybe I didn’t even know I was here
‘til I saw you holding me.
Give me one room to come home to.
Give me the palm of your hand.
Every strand of my hair is a kite string
and I have been blue in the face with your sky,
crying a flood over Iowa
so your mother can wake to Venice.
Love, I smashed my glass slipper
to build a stained glass window
for every wall inside my chest.
Now my heart is a pressed flower in a tattered Bible.
It is the one verse you can trust.
So I’m putting all of my words in your collection plate.
I am setting the table with bread and grace.
My knees are bent
like the corner of a page.
I am saving your place.
”—“Maybe I Need You,” Andrea Gibson (via clavicola)
You saw my pain, washed out in the rain Broken glass, saw the blood run from my veins But you saw no fault no crack in my heart And you kneel beside my hope torn apart But the ghosts that we knew will flicker from you And we’ll live a long life So give me hope in the darkness that I will see the light Cause oh that gave me such a fright But I will hold as long as you like Just promise me we’ll be alright
So lead me back Turn south from that place And close my eyes from my recent disgrace Cause you know my call We’ll share my all Now children come and they will hear me roar So give me hope in the darkness that i will see the light Cause oh that gave me such a fright But I will hold on as long as you like Just promise me that we’ll be alright
But hold me still bury my heart on the cold And hold me still bury my heart on the cold
So give me hope in the darkness that I will see the light Cause oh that gave me such a fright But I will hold on as long as you like Just promise me that we’ll be alright
But the ghosts that we knew will flicker from you And we’ll live a long life
When I asked you for a chai latte, what I meant to say was, “I was walking past. I saw you in the window. I only came in here because I had to know what your voice sounded like, but instead of saying that, I just got really nervous and ordered the first thing on the menu. I don’t even know what…
“I think it’s great for two people to be together. That is a good number. I think, that to keep it alive though, you can’t spend every day together. It wears out the magic, Love means nothing to me if it’s not fortified with fierce, painful longing, brief explosive instances of furious passion and intimacy and then a sad parting for a time. In that way, you can give your life to it and still have a life of your own. I think some couples spend too much time together. They flatten out the potential for experience by constant closeness. Passion builds over time like steam. Let it rage until it’s exhausted and then leave it alone to let it build up again. Why can’t love be insane and distorted? How can it be vital if it has the same threshold as normal day-to-day experience? Why can’t you write burning letters and let your nocturnal self smolder with desire for one who is not there? Why not let the days before you see her be excruciating and ferment in your mind so on the day you go to the airport to pick her up, you’re nearly sick with anticipation? And then when desire shows the first sign of contentment, throw it back it its cage and let it slowly build itself back into a state of starved fury. Then when you are together, it all matters. So that when you look into her eyes, you lose your balance, so that when she touches you, it feels like you have never been touched before. When she says your name, you think it was she who named you. When she has gone, you bury your face in the pillow to smell her hair and you lie awake at night remembering your face in her neck, her breathing and the amazing smell of her skin. Your eyes go wet because you want her so bad and miss her so much. Now that is worth the miles and the time. That matches the inferno of life. Otherwise you poison each other with your presence day after day as you drag each other through the inevitable mundane aspects of your lives. That is the slow death that I see slapped on faces everywhere I go. It’s part of the world’s sadness that’s more empty than cold, poorly lit rooms in cities of the American night.”—Henry Rollins (via wethinkwedream)
“I want you to miss me. I want you to recognize me in your morning cereal and the voice of your favorite singer. I want you to wonder where I am when your fingers are stretched beneath your waistband, when you’re lighting up, when you’re tripping up the uneven step on your basement stairs. I want you to think of me when you look into your teacup and your rearview mirror. I want you.”—Camryn Pulaski Day (via atomos)
“I want to know you. You seem like someone worth knowing. Every day I feel like I’m surrounded by people with hard edges and sour faces but I get the sense that you’re different. Too often people seem to think that they have the answers to everything. Their faces are trapped in permascowls and they can’t be bothered with anything besides their own narcissism. You aren’t like that. You still ask questions. You’re still looking for the answers.”—Ryan O’Connell, I Want To Know You (via thatkindofwoman)