red like my open heart
Here lie my desires; consider yourself warned.

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1 note - reblog - posted 1 day ago

saturday.
you inched towards me. i was a trembling baby bird with molten feathers - but you handled me, you loved me, you ran yourself over me like an antidote to the universe. it took shudder after shudder but i fell apart, an open book with pages spilling out the spine, safe within the binding of your heart. you were (and always are) so beautiful - with every inch of skin i covered in the shower i wanted to sob. my nerves were screaming, but your fingertips reinforced your mouth. under your caresses i was perfect; underneath the running water blurring the lines between our limbs i was clean. so i quieted. i gave in, i gave up, and i was freed. even if just for a night.

sunday.
reality was a morning sledgehammer that had only to tap at my wounds for it to become obvious that i hadn’t healed. i begged you for safety. it is too late to pretend to you that i am perfect. i have only honesty to offer. it’s… not a good look.

monday
i needed you. i needed you. i needed you. soon it won’t matter.

Dear person,

This is a cloud of my thoughts - written by a girl on a hill in the preview of a summer with her body pressed to the grass and the wind streaming through her hair. This is a cloud that has gone into my mouth, through my lungs, and out to my mind. This is a cloud I wish to share with you because you let me see just how lovely it is to be in a space together by ourselves.

This is the beginnings of the corners of my heart.

I don’t know why or how we started, nor why it was so hard to stop. I don’t know what to make of the way we have spun and the myriad of chances it took, both bad and good, to have brought us to here. How could I not regret our moments when they only occurred after hours of your pain (and in some ways, mine)? How could I savor every minute, every note, when our souls still hurt from the wounds of others?

Yet how could I? How could I ever? How could I regret the heat of your skin and the hint of your lips? How could I regret the details of your touch, like feathers of winds but yet insistent, real? I like to get lost in the sensuously senseless poetry of our time, the improbability of our escape. I feel freed from the rules of the world because I never believed we would be permitted to break them. Spring quarter first year was informed by the ache of you - spring quarter second year, I think I might break of you. But the latter is a fate that I chased. The latter is a meltdown of an entirely different nature.

I don’t know how to let go of our hurt and I don’t know whether I would zero the clock on ours if it meant I could return you to the perfect joy of hers. If I had the right, I certainly can’t promise I wouldn’t. I still think of her often, not even a fragment of how often you must, but enough to doubt. Sometimes I wonder if she’ll show up on your doorstep. Sometimes I see a flash of memory in your eyes and I wish to god she would, just to spare you whatever agony is left.
I do know that since there’s not a damn thing I can do I am not sorry that I see the gold blue of the sun and the sea on your face. I do know that two puzzle pieces that don’t quite fit can still be beautiful. I do know that when words from your fingers send me flying somewhere far above the earth, I am high enough to see the sky in your eyes. I do know that we may not be meant for shit but even if what was intended to become eternal happiness can’t quite be patched up by the mere timelessness of moments, I am more than okay with the fact that we’re free to keep trying.

0 notes - reblog - posted 1 week ago
0 notes - reblog - posted 1 week ago

nietzsche called us out for being so capable of repression - not only of our desires but also of our memories. i like to think that i’m neither. i don’t repress what i want, i reconcile myself with it; i let it burn and filter into the air so that it may live and take form in the world. i also don’t forget. i forgive. i don’t forget.

only i know that, though. to someone else, i can make it seem like they vanished. you won’t know the difference, believe me. i wouldn’t ever let word get out that i still cared. an assumption like that requires evidence, and it can’t be assumed if there isn’t any.

push my buttons, guys. do it.  don’t believe that i won’t still make you feel like i erased you in order to stay alive.

events took place on 3.24.2014

terminal. finite. like time. but no one cared, because this was the beginning. this was the dialogue at the start. there wasn’t even a soundtrack - yet (there would be. this is my life we’re talking about, after all). i threw my arms around his neck. for someone i’d only met in 3D twice before, he was surprisingly familiar. but also surprisingly nonchalant. was his pulse hammering like a landing plane, trying to slow the fuck down before killing everyone on board? mine was. mine had been as soon as it felt the wheels hit the ground. well, i was on the ground. the same ground. in the same city. with the same zipcode. on the same square foot? my voice never rose above a normal decibel, but…

highway. … the entire car ride home (not initially, but by the end of the week, i’d unconsciously begun to refer to it as such - a wonderfully terrible sign), i wanted to scream. it’s a wonder i didn’t howl all the way from the airport to the desert doorstep. i played flume louder than i’d ever heard him and god, was it glorious.

house. it was desert red with a desert roof and a palm tree right next to the driveway. i wanted to hug that palm tree on more than one occasion but i wouldn’t have been able to wrap my arms around more than half. it grew as he grew, and every time i brushed its leaves i thought of the way they’d formed each delicate tendril as he developed into the world. 
i miss that damn tree.

puppy. rugs was a cute little fucker, no lie, but bruno stole my heart the second i met him with his lovely dark eyes and his big dark paws and his beautiful dark face. i crouched, touched my nose to his nose, and he was following me within minutes.

mama. she was a little eccentric and very sweet and she felt like a mother, from the very beginning. and he was patient with her, the way we must all be when we toe that threshold between childhood and adulthood, the way we hope we all are when we realize that even as we move forward they go backward and need our help with the most rudimentary things. if the people you love don’t take a minute to help their parents learn how to use smartphones, they’re not worth loving. take that shit back. 

room. his. quite obviously and singularly his. his xbox, his desk, his books, his chair, his closet, his DVDs, his flash figurines, his bed. it confronted me as soon as i swung open the door. it didn’t need to be comfortable, but it was. what a thoroughly unhelpful bonus. 
i tried sandwiching my suitcase as unobtrusively as possible, but i still ended up tripping over my own shit all week. it didn’t matter. we spent most of the time in bed anyway.

flashback. the bad stuff is easy to talk about because it no longer matters. the good stuff? that still matters. i am twenty. that means i’m maybe a woman or something. whatever they call them past that point. but i’m the woman that the thirteen-year-old girl who said those desperately devoted words grew into. like the tiny palm tree by the door. i didn’t want to read her words yet. i was afraid they would still mean more than i could handle.

sleep. came too deceptively easy for all the twists and knots in my heart. but sometimes, your body wins. sometimes. thank goodness for that - if we left it up to our fragile minds, we’d be too permanently stricken to move. the bed sloped. i was vulnerable and embarrassed until i was too tired to be either. i tried to take comfort in hazy memories of an era that seemed too far removed to be reassuring. he found me beautiful once, i thought. with five days of luck, perhaps he still will.

A: When you become a famous writer and travel the world, take me with you to some places
K: I might just be a broke ass millennial wandering the planes of the universe
K: But you can visit me wherever I am and I’ll always show you a good time

1. decide where i want my tattoo
2. decide how i want to determine the font for my tattoo (AKA i’m gonna write that shiz myself until i get it perfect.)
3. decide my major <—- oh my god.

0 notes - reblog - posted 1 week ago
"Here’s to strong women. May we know them. May we be them. May we raise them."
-

(Source: quotable-notable, via suckonmygawea)

it was about this time last year that i realized my life had become a series of airports; entering and exiting, one flight after another with hellishly heavenly interims in between. two-thirds of the way through my second year and nearly one-half of the way through the college experience of this particular lifetime, my assessment is truer than ever. i have wrenched myself abruptly from newly grown roots. i have said hello and goodbye and goodbye and goodbye and goodbye (and goodbye) … and hello again, always another hello because my heart yet beats and my lungs yet breathe and so i am not done running towards a world that is somehow still lovelier than everything i’ve already seen.

despite the certainty my inordinate grieving heart currently feels (this is the end, the last of this my soul can stand. the universe is crumbling. i am irreparably broken. i will never ever ever inhale without pain), today is just another of those days. out of one strong, beautiful, pitch-picture-perfect-pair of arms - and into those of another, and another, and undoubtedly more others in the future conglomerate of airport farewells and touchdown salutations. it hurts like a motherfucker!… but that is only because i am alive. i am alive, i am loved, i am loving; it was true, it is true, it will always be true, because as finite as time seems intent upon being, love seems equally determined to prove itself the greatest and most limitless thing i will ever know.

damn you, bittersweet beautiful world. i’ll take it.

4 notes - reblog - posted 2 weeks ago