He helped me clean out my head in time for floweret sunshine, while I raked dead leaves from underneath the bed of my nails that were waiting to be organized in diaries. As the 'Forbidding Numb' piled up, he laundered my abandoned hope clean. All that I could smell on my hands were the roots of the root words I had diluted with extra letters and slushiness. There isn't a corner that we missed; and, in no time at all, I will forget the wretchedness of this winter. Soon, I will only smell peonies and calla lilies, fresh cotton sheets, and maybe—just maybe— the paperless books that I have written being pressed like petals; yet, no longer incinerators burning perished wood that already pushed up daisies right when autumn left its leaves behind me.
He taught me what true love is: helping each other breathe a little easier— smooth and steady— instead of dying a little every day, choking on being loved as someone's vice.
The current's run is too wild, and we created it. A mermaid and mariner have so much romanticism, but too different of backgrounds. One breathes on grounded land, and one breathes above and below—fluidly. This is how she always gets stuck in their nets. They both try for the sake of fascination, but unlike the mermaid's lungs, fascination runs dry. So, they wave at the shoreline and go back to being whoever they were: half humans without each other.
I'll only ask you once to hold my hand in this life. Otherwise, I already know it does just fine holding my other one.
Little girls start changing their life as they get older. Their rhythm changes... Their stories, joys, tickles, and merriment do not change; they do. Their laughter becomes about chagrin, apology, and cordiality. It becomes a nervous laughter. It stops coming from a place of pure abandonment anymore; it comes from a place of abandoning their pure abandonment. They forget how to laugh from the bellies of their being.
It's all a conundrum, isn't it— forgetting the mixed tape in the car... feeling forgotten when... so many people are thinking of us? Drinking when we should be eating... sleeping when we should be making love... thanking God above when we don't have enough? Each day is a mad rush to something irrelevant. We measure our pricelessness by our successes, which... still equals money. Life goes by so quick when each day is a mad rush to slow motion. We eat fast food so that we can go to bed on time, but, trust me, everyone wakes up too late.
We forget to thank those that hurt us the most.
Once upon a time ago, you loved me in Photoshop. When I was monochromatic, you gave me texture. You went through my layer mask and hit......'Reveal All'. I remember when you stared at me like I was saturated; but, sometimes I don't remember that once upon a time ago without seeing your background image losing its magic lens.
When you fall in love for the last time, it becomes the first.
This is where I long to get home to after vacation. This is where I feel comfy in my pajamas. This is where, no matter where I go, my bed is here and none is better than my own. When I think about you, you can never be him... When once upon a time ago, I never thought there WAS a him that could ever be you.
If you're going to force me out, someone else will find their way in. That is key.
I need more protein in my poetry. I don't care if you cannot chew the fat of my words, my stomach is growling and it is because... I am starving.
I've always kept one emotional suitcase packed. With you, I live out of one, every day, and I keep a cab on speed dial.
His mind had patterns, patterns that made puzzles, and puzzles that became mazes. Those mazes had color and became labyrinths— labyrinths that went crazy like jungles— and all he could trust me with was letting my fingers get lost in his curls. I played in there, for years trapped in his hair (that overthought and provoked lair)— the only thing between my thoughts and his: the air. But, he was smart not to trust me enough. He knew. The open air looked at him with slight eyes, issued him binds of lies, like library cards ...full of fiction. And I knew this, so how could I forget? Along the way, I turned into every other female he ever loved. It was his destiny that gave me permission to pull his hair again.
Maybe my fear wasn’t that he couldn’t sustain emotional intimacy, but that he could. Maybe the scariest relationships were the ones where both people wanted to be close.
Maybe there are some people you can’t unlove no matter how hard you try. Maybe there are some people you stay connected to, because they’ve hurt you to your very core. You keep hoping that somehow the pain can be resolved if they finally do the right thing, but the right thing can never be done because it had to have been done in the past.
Misfortune is also good fortune, in a way. It is relative. For, you get to know who truly are your friends, and who really are your true relatives.
If he's the one, don't hold back. Now is the perfect time to love.
Those who consider people bridges will use them. Those who view people as humans will try to befriend them. Those who see their partners as persons they can dump are bound to attract dumpsters and doomed they are to attract but the trash bins.
You can't have a deep and fulfilling relationship with someone until you truly understand yourself. When you learn to be alone and love your own company you will never need anybody else in your life. So anybody you do let into your life will be from a place of love instead of from a place of need.