shadows

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...

He went crazy at nineteen

Said hed lost all his self esteem

And couldnt understand why he was cry, cry, crying, cryyiiing...



He would stare at empty chairs

Think of the ghosts who once sat there

The ghosts that broke his heart.

Oh the ghosts that broke my heart

The ghosts that broke his heart

Oh the ghosts that broke my heart


The ghosts the ghosts the ghosts the ghosts the ghosts the ghosts

The ghosts that broke my heart before I met you



Lover, please do not

Fall to your knees

Its not

Like I believe in

Everlasting love



He says Im so lost,

Not at all well
...


Do as done and there was nothing left to be

Turned out Id been following him and he'd been following me

Do as done after it was over

We were just two lovers crying on each others shoulder



Lover, please do not

Fall to your knees

Its not

Like I believe in

Everlasting love





-Ghosts by Laura Marling

let go

Listen

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Shh.
Can you hear it?
Heavier than light, lighter than air;
It kisses the water, rippling its surface.
Carried by the wind, its highest notes bounce off the edges of the heavens
Coming back to us in
Hums.

Be still.
Can you feel it?
It speads over your body like warmth.
Dappled sunlight that lingers on your lips,
Inching its way toward your tired heart,
Envoloping you
Revival.

There.
Can you taste it?
Sometimes salty, always sweet.
It hangs in the air afterwards, a breath of its former self.
Leaving a longing on your tongue,
That can be traced to your fingertips
Clinging.

Hush.
Can you smell it?
It's fresher than fresh, huskier than husk.
It fills your lungs,
Resting there,
Replenishing you.
Breathe.

Look.
Can you see it?
(Even the blind can see this.)
It's everywhere, everything.
It's timeless, it's age-old.
It's colours that swim, their consistencies mixed,
Undefinable.

Shh.




Listen.

let it go

  dont worry about what it is or if it means anything
dont you get it?
the best things mean nothing
the happiest people dont think
they dont know
dont care

dont you get it?
Madame de Stael was wrong
The greatest happiness isn't to transform one's feelings into action.


the greatest happiness is to stop feeling
stop thinking
but keep acting

IGNORANCE IS BLISS
people are lonely
the world is fucked up
you will never be happy not really

and if you really think, really feel, it will be too much
you will lose yourself
(and if you don't lose yourself you aren't doing it right. if you don't lose yourself you're already doing this, subconsciously)

but if you act without thinking
without considering
others

you might catch a glimpse of happiness

because someone's always going to be unhappy
someone's always dying or crying
someone's always laughing
but it doesn't concern you

let it go
because empathy can squeeze your throat so tight you suffocate

and noone wants that

not really

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Ignore it, I dare you:

this is your future.

maybe baby

and then,
(and only then)
i might let myself

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skin.

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and so they run
half naked
the waves licking
wind whipping
their legs
arms
skin.
electricity builds in their chest
collapses as laughter in the air around them
mixing with the salt,
overwhelming the senses.

flushed with their own daring
surprised by their own confidence
they expose parts of themselves to the world
that normally hide in the dark

skin
that is shy
shapes
that are concealed
colours
that are lost
they are finally revealed,
finally beautiful
no longer shadow.

but here,
atoms collide, shift, disappear
here,
anything can happen.

so instead
waves swallow them,
as they wallow in this half-world
and forget what it's like to feel
modesty.

and then
(pay attention)
the climax approaches
there's no slinking
no cowering
no covering

only running their arms by their sides
only embracing movement that is usually ignored
only flying
only freedom

this,
this is the feeling that can't be described
this is the moment between waking and sleeping
this is the part that people leave out.


afterwards
they walk back with a smile
a secret that glows in their chests
lighting up their faces
that can only be traced to their damp skin
wet hair
sandy feet

this is the feeling that can't be ignored.

yes

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Perhaps they are not stars but rather openings in heaven where the love of our lost ones pours through

                                                 

             -Old Eskimo Proverb

fresh air

back in a week

wanderer

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shallow breaths, mine.
mind wanders as feet do the same
slipping occasionally on thick tufts of grass
thud
my hands and knees meet the grass with a rough kiss
catching me by surprise
a gasp escapes my lips
scattering my thoughts
they are lost in the wind

breathe

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The only person you are destined to become is the person you decide to be
-Ralph Waldo Emerson

Relax
this is in your hands

don't worry.

it will be okay.
this will pass.
it will.
and in two years time you won't even be able to remember this.
writing this
thinking this
feeling this


you won't even be able to remember who you were.

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don't worry
because this,
this is fleeting
and soon enough
                you won't care

i'm glad it's ok

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okay,

i trust you.

let's go with your idea

I can't help feeling it will be awkward next time we see each other.

letterhead #5

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Dear Meg,

This is my second letter to you.

You could already know what I'm about to tell you,

But somehow I don't think so.
Despite how confident I sound in my previous letter I wasn't sure it was you.
I thought maybe it was someone else,
Maybe I was making things up,
After all- a lot of people like frozen raspberries.
But tonight you cleared all doubt.
You have a blog, with 18 followers, you've been on it a year.
You signed a comment recently with your real name.
But most importantly, tonight you said you wouldn't want me reading your blog.
Wouldn't want me following your blog.

Sorry it has taken me so long to tell you.

I guess I didn't want you reading my blog,

Knowing it was me when you did.

But that only reinforces the point that I should be honest.

At first I wasn't sure what to do,
But I think I have the solution.
We stop following each other.
Stop reading each other's blogs,
Which sucks because yours is one of my favorites.

I don't want to force you to stop following mine but

How can I post everything that's going on if I'm afraid you'll judge me?

Afraid you'll tell someone or interpret it incorrectly?

This blog is the equivalent of my diary, of counselling,

It's everything I don't tell my friends.

I guess I'm taking the easy way out.
I really admire your writing.
I haven't breathed a word to anyone and I promise I won't.
Please do the same for me, no matter what you read or what you've read.

And please don't stop posting, I would be so upset, feel so guilty.

I even considered not telling you because I didn't want you to feel like you couldn't use blogger anymore.
And now you've left tumblr cause people are reading it.
I'm sorry I screwed this up for you.

I've already read all your posts so it's okay if you do the same.

But, please don't utter a word.

Please.

Thank-you for being so nice to me when I started.

Fair's fair.
I thought I should tell you on our own turf.

It's Grace.

la vérité

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here we go again
with your false hope and my reckless promises
your meaningful looks and my empty words
your beliefs and my aversion to changing them.

the storyline's the same we just rearrange the characters

last words

this not knowing is the worst.
not knowing how much i can say and how much it will mean.
how much is known.
but maybe it's better this way.
as long as it's kept secret.

so here's a promise

i won't tell.

but don't you either.

because these are the real kind of secrets

the one's that not even best friends know,

the kind that keep you awake at night.

and i guarantee noone will already know.

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i should stop listening Carole Bayer Sager before i say something stupid.

We

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We, like seaweed
Cling together.
Ravelling and unravelling, curling, unfurling,
Embracing and dancing,
Creating the illusion of cohesion
Before unceremoniously parting ways.

Like seaweed, we
Are puppets.
In the hands of tidal forces.
Our control is fantasy
And all the world content with misconception.
We hold our breath waiting for the curtain to be drawn aside.

Seaweed, we like.
It lives in the moment.
Unaware of the worries that plague the rest,
Pushing too hard and too fast,
Always straining toward the sunlight
Until -inevitably- it is torn away from the sand.

Seaweed, like we,
Is bound by a lie.
Mere sand cannot stop it, mould it, control it.
It is foretold, that it will break free
-Not by choice, but destiny-
Wash around lovers' ankles to be kicked away in disgust.

We, like seaweed
Cannot last.
Our joy is fleeting, our beauty flawed, flagrant.
Because away from the glittering aura of kelp-swept seas
Washed up on the sand,
We are shown for what we truly are.