I’m missing on you hard today. I love learning new things. My mind feels excited and invigorated by the challenges of this week. Yet I miss your smell. I am in dire need of being tucked into your arms tightly. To feel you kneed the stress of my day out of my shoulders. I miss your heat. In need of your kisses and tickles and pokes. I wish coming home meant coming home to you.
My black heart was a little depleted. Any amount of time felt fleeting and inconclusive. Yet you know how to mend it. Words are mere formalities and not required. Each tickle and playful pinch. Each glanced exchanged. I see hope in your eyes. I can taste my future on your lips. Even in the sticky summer humidity I don’t want to slip away. Rather to content to remain heart to heart within your arms.
I’m not very good at being alone lately. The sadness is substantial pressing down on each and every pore. I sip warm tea slowly. Trying to practice gratitude. The warmth of the mug. The flavor’s resting on my tongue. I will it to repair the breaks on my black heart. To dry up the salt streaming from my brown eyes. There is usually a reason for this brokenness. Yet I’m grasping to explain this insanity.
“i love you with claws
and lungs, a longing
to tear open the sky
to feel against me warmth
(your shade and color)
to be burned by
that beautiful quality
of light.”—the dust dances too (via thedustdancestoo)
Your arms are wrapped around my waist. You hold me in tight as we walk through the cool night together. Criss crossing down the quite streets hidden away from the bustle. I glance over and you are looking at the stars. So clear and dark. It’s hard not to get lost in the expanse above us as…
7. Love (generously, often and deeply): crush hard on strangers. Fall in love with moments. Smile at people you’ll never see again. Fall deeply in love all over again. Even when you get your heart broken, celebrate your pain and vulnerability and openness and courage. Watch movies and cry. Spend the day holding her/his hand. Say I love you every day of your life. Cuddle like a motherfucker.
10. Let go: for everything you aren’t in control of (and for everything you should relinquish control of), learn to let go. Forgive yourself for the mistakes you’ve made. Forgive others for the pain they’ caused you. There’s virtue and strength in forgiveness. There’s freedom and beauty in fluidity. There’s joy and lightness in a world without time.
“So many people glorify and romanticize “busy”. I do not. I value purpose. I believe in resting in reason and moving in passion. If you’re always busy/moving, you will miss important details. I like the mountain. Still, but when it moves, lands shift and earth quakes.”—Joseph Cook (via seulray)
I look at that picture and the way the leaves are scattered around. Messy and chaotic. It’s not just chucks and leaves. If the camera had panned up to my face you would have felt the sadness. Palpable through my tired brown eyes. My arms dangling by my sides. My black heart completely broken. My cheeks marked by tears. I stood there alone driven by different questions. I had abandoned my gut and that is what led me there. I never thought that it could heal. I had to feel that to get to today. Now if you were to pan up the hope has swept back in illuminating the green sparkle in my eyes. My one hand is intertwined with his. By black heart beaming. My cheeks flushed with optimism. Trusting my gut every step of the way.
The first time I fell a little deeper we were sitting on wooden stools. Sipping identical beers. You told me stories of your transformation. These actions which I believed led to our collision.The first time my black heart almost spilled out over you. We were tucked under a bridge and looking out towards the ocean. I looked at that glint in your eyes and my black heart tried to push the words from my lips. Instead I closed my eyes touching my lips to your lips trapping my words behind kisses. I knew it for sure when our words and miscommunications bruised each other. I hurt because you hurt. Yet I wait until I can infuse enough courage into those words I long to tell you so bad.
What makes me different is the sadness that lives in my black heart. What makes me different is the feelings that rush my brain and my body. It is how I am having to constantly be conscious so that I don’t drift away in a flash flood of my own tears. I don’t like talking about it. Because sometimes it becomes a competition of who has been sadder. Just because I did not take any uppers or downers doesn’t mean I don’t know of hard it is to peal yourself from your bed. How heavy your heart feels and how it tugs you away from yourself. How two versions of myself live together the darkness versus the light. The light versus the darkness. How sometimes I can’t even find the words to articulate that experience because I am to consumed by feeling yours.
“In your life, you meet people. Some you never think about again. Some, you wonder what happenend to them. There are some that you wonder if they ever think about you. And then there are some you wish you never had to think about again. But you do.”—Kevin Arnold (The Wonder Years)
I was so fast to rush into it. Racing, grasping, pushing because I thought it would only be for a second. As if an hour glass had been flipped over. Each grain of sand slipping rapidly from the moment I met you. You approached it differently methodically and leisurely. You have taught me how to dial it down. You are a piece of chocolate that rest’s on my tongue. Instead of chewing it back hard. It sits and melts slowly. Rich and satisfying I can feel it as it trickles down. Complete pleasure and enjoyment. Similar to the warmth that has spread from the tip of my black heart all the way down. I embrace the warmth of constancy as it cozies up to all the icy bruises that fleeting moments had forged.
“So avoid using the word ‘very’ because it’s lazy. A man is not very tired, he is exhausted. Don’t use very sad, use morose. Language was invented for one reason, boys - to woo women - and, in that endeavor, laziness will not do. It also won’t do in your essays.”—(via nicolakirsty)
What is the best moment. Can it be just one? Or is it several that come together to form a collective. Upon reflection it seems almost circumstantial. It was the best thing at the time. It was everything you ever hoped for that second. Was it the first time you sat in the sunshine eating papaya and ice cream with him. Or is it that moment you sat with her on the rafters above the stage feeling each and every vibration as rock gods played below you. Is it the first time you legally gripped the steering wheel of the family van. Is it the moment when he signed your book with his name. Or when the email said that you where finally admitted. Or when the call came through with the offer you were dying for. Or is it yet to come?