How beautiful would it be to find someone who’s in love with your mind.
Anonymous: what does blue mean?
Feeling blue- like feeling down, worn out, maybe a bit sad.
a little bit of summer. #day77 #100happydays
[The future] is a tango. It is a waterfall between
two countries, the river that tried to drown you.
It is a city where men speak a language
you can fake if you must. It’s the hands of children
thieving your empty pockets. It’s bicycles
with bells ringing through the streets at midnight.
Come up from the basement. It’s not over.
Prescription for relaxation: visit daily, use SPF as needed. Take food with you. Breathe deep. (Doctors orders). #beach #vsco
Lately, I’ve been thinking about who I want to love, and how I want to love, and why I want to love the way I want to love, and what I need to learn to love that way, and who I need to become to become the kind of love I want to be… and when I break it all down, when I whittle it into a single breath, it essentially comes out like this: Before I die, I want to be somebody’s favorite hiding place, the place they can put everything they know they need to survive, every secret, every solitude, every nervous prayer, and be absolutely certain I will keep it safe. I will keep it safe.
The worst kind of love is when you love
through the disgusting—
when you’re bad for each other
and you know it
and you keep on loving
and it tears you apart.
The worst is when you can’t get enough of it.
You’re running to their mouth
like you’re looking for a fix;
you promise yourself,
just one last time.
But the last time becomes the next time
and you wear their bruises
in a ring around your neck,
and tell yourself it’s poetic
to wear hickeys like a hanging.
You try to shake them from your bones,
but they’ve soaked into the marrow,
made sponges of your femurs.
Your legs give out at the knees
and you call it love.
They say the warning sign
is when you think you need one another.
They say that’s where it starts.
But you’ve never loved by halves
and you don’t know how to stop.
The worst is when you lose yourself loving
but you have always loved that way
and you don’t think there’s anything
you can do about it.
Find a love that makes you feel new, and better. Always like you’re moving and staying still at the exact same time.
I am unable to describe exactly what is the matter with me. Now and then there are horrible fits of anxiety, apparently without cause.
I still feel that poetry is not medicine — it’s an X-ray. It helps you see the wound and understand it.
beautiful. #100happydays #day75 #home