THM

It used to be, you’d open your mouth
And the weather changed. You’d
Open your mouth and the sky’d spill

That dry, missing-someone kind of rain
No matter the season. And it hurt
Like a guitar hurts under the right hands.

Like a good strong spell. Now
You’re all song. Body gone to memory.
And guess what? It hurts

Harder.

Tracy K. Smith, closing lines to “Vaya, Camarón,” in Duende: Poems (Graywolf Press, 2007)
1 month ago 2462 — Via humans-or-hurricanes © memoryslandscapeReblog
How long has it been since someone touched part of you other than your body?
Laurel Hoodwrit (via tanzdiele)
2 months ago 144786 — Via rustyvoices © ineffablythoughtlessReblog
He turned me into an object and I turned him into a god. How sick is that?
2 months ago 40445 — Via gayhorchata © beautyinthebellejarReblog
# oh
Basically we are all looking for someone who knows who we are and will break it to us gently.
Robert Brault (via larmoyante)
2 months ago 12354 — Via rustyvoices © larmoyanteReblog
How do I nicely turn him down without getting murdered?
A question all women are now asking themselves (via anafterlifewithyou)
3 months ago 215696 — Via werewolfpoetry © morphosyntaxReblog
I’m wearing my months without you
As winter layers from now on.
This is me alone,
Do you see?
I am happy
And I am whole
And you have left me.
Thank you.
4 months ago 14 — Reblog
Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there; I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow,
I am the sunlight on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning’s hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there; I did not die.
Mary Elizabeth Frye (via multivariable-calculus)
4 months ago 229 — Via multivariable-calculus © multivariable-calculusReblog

Summer, your lips,
The curve of a smile that makes me shiver,
So I haven’t needed the cold in months.
Thank you.

Summer, your hips,
The indents of fingertips and promises.
Promises hidden and stolen and torn.
There are things in the wind,
Dancing outside my window, my dear,
Did you do that?
Is that what you call beautiful?
Is that what you mean when you call me
Beautiful?

Summer, your wrists,
Black and blue and soft, soft pink,
And all I’m thinking of is bones and winter.
Take it back, goddamn, take it all back.

Summer, your smell,
The sound and taste of it pressed into my pillowcase.
Am I tired? Maybe I am.

"Tu me manques, tu me gênes" - K.E. 
4 months ago 24 — Reblog
I know I don’t do this enough,
But if you ever cared about me at all,
I need you to tell me.
I know I can get through this,
But I don’t feel like being alone
Anymore. This time,
I’m not waiting for you to ask me if I’m okay,
And I’m not going to tell you that I am.

I’m going to say I’m sorry instead:
I’m sorry.
It never occured to me
That I was being selfish with my life,
But here I am now.
I will share at least this with you.
5 months ago 7 — Reblog
7 months ago 4685 — Via you-deserve-nothing © Reblog
It’s been better lately. I no longer
think of you first thing in the morning,
and I can finally fall asleep without
wondering if you are out there
right now, your body tied around
someone else’s body,
whose body does not belong to me.
I haven’t been punishing myself
as much lately. And even if I
know now that I was always
in the wrong, I can finally accept
that there is nothing that I
can do about that now.
I haven’t been thinking of you
as much lately. The image
of your face no longer makes
my mind ache with thoughts
of the things that I could have done,
and how if maybe I would have
held on for a little bit longer,
you may still be here with me.
Strangely enough though,
ever since you left,
things have been feeling a lot
easier lately. And I think
that might be because since
you’ve been gone, I’ve had time
to realize that life is
much more simple when you
are not always over-thinking
every move that you make.
"Lately," - Colleen Brown (via mostlyfiction)
7 months ago 1126 — Via mostlyfiction © mostlyfictionReblog
The breaking of a wave cannot explain the whole sea.
Vladimir Nabokov (via larmoyante)
7 months ago 10673 — Via larmoyante © larmoyanteReblog

I don’t know what this is called. They didn’t teach it to me in school. My hands hurt, is it supposed to be like this? Craned necks, slouched backs, darkened circles: hairline cracks. I wake up at 7AM every morning for this. He asked me what I meant when I said that it was all over, and I told him I don’t know what it’s called. Over, over, my God, is it really just beginning?

This is the end of an era. This is the start of a new chapter. I don’t know what it’s called but so much is over and I am so, so hungry. I walk through the hallways hoping to find the words that I made when everything was new, three and a half years ago. I think I could use them now. But all I see is the end of an era, the start of a new chapter, and I am famished, holy fuck, it wasn’t supposed to be like this at all, was it?

They keep telling me to keep in touch and call and text and well, we can always come back home on the weekends, right? They don’t know what it’s called, either. I know that everyone does it but I don’t think I’m doing it well enough. No, these were not the best years of my life but they feel right even when they’re wrong. Maybe it’s too late for nostalgia; I don’t care. Goddammit I miss it all.

I keep saying this is the end of an era, but I think I mean lifetime. Say chapter, say commencement, say new beginnings, say leaving the nest. Say whatever you like; euphemisms won’t feed this aching fear. Say graduation. That’s what it’s called anyway, isn’t it?

"Commencement Is a Stupid Name for It" by K.E.
7 months ago 4 — Reblog
I still remember
That one Friday,
When you told me
That you normally wouldn’t date
A girl with a habit
Of building doorways into her forearms,
But I was special.
Special, huh?
I was feeling something,
But special wasn’t it.
"I Understand That Was Supposed to be a Compliment" by K.E.
7 months ago 4 — Reblog
Come back? Is that what you said?
To what?
I left the side door open, yes, I know.
I just didn’t have the heart
To lock the cat out,
That’s all.
There is no back.
And even if there was,
What would I do with it?
"Many Happy Returns" by K.E.
7 months ago 8 — Reblog