Language is what honors the vanishing.
Or is language what slows the leaving?
Or does it only deepen what we know of loss?
Inside us, constellations,
bit thread knotted into night’s black drape.
There are no right words,
if by right we mean perfect,
if by perfect we mean able to save us.
-From "The Failure of Language" by Jacqueline Berger
Yesterday, I knew how it would end.
Between sips of milk and knotted thumbs,
I thought of it loudly, all day. Today, I can’t seem
to remember much.
Yesterday, I knew that it would smell of
grass and charred wood and
sound like a hose left running
a few houses down.
Yesterday, I knew that when it ended,
the waterfalls would rush backwards
and the clouds would huddle in a corner of the sky
and my sister would nod to herself in the mirror,
blink twice, and love herself.
Yesterday, I knew how it would end
and that just before it did, the world would blush
and quiver. The soil would chuckle
and ask for water and chuckle again
and as the petals bowed, the lights would dim.
Yesterday, I knew how it would end but today,
I know only that it will, only that you will be there
and you will whisper ‘I love you, baby,
I love you enough to watch you go’.
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— Paul Simon (via observando)
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sometimes I kiss people I shouldn’t kiss and let them unbutton my jeans sometimes I leave English class without asking and walk in angular circles until I can hear the blood rushing under my skin sometimes I run until I can’t breathe sometimes I sit in the rain sometimes I sleep for six hours in the middle of the day
sometimes I drive too fast and listen to my music so loud that it hurts sometimes I drink until everything goes black and I don’t remember talking about you all night (even though I do)
sometimes I cry about books and about people who died hundreds of years ago sometimes I don’t cry even though I want to more than anything sometimes I ignore the people I love sometimes I hold myself to keep everything in because you are not here to do it
sometimes I think I’m alive sometimes I think I probably never will be”
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Never EVER let your friends walk alone at night. Boys or girls, it doesn’t matter. There’s some scary people in this world that are willing to addict, defile, and kill anything with a heart beat. Please be careful
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Police sources confirm the body of Hannah Graham was found Saturday afternoon at Walnut Creek Park in Albemarle County.
Confirmed that Hannah Graham’s body has been found by local news. Heartbreak.
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we keep still. adolescent gods
of skin and splendor and dewy oak
counting the worlds we will conquer
once our wings grow. and softly
you say that eternity is somewhere here
in the moonlight and air, that it could be ours
if i would just lean in close and take it.
- the dust dances too
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— Haruki Murakami, After Dark (via larmoyante)
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THESE ARE ALL THE WORDS I CANNOT SPEAK
I am writing poetry that isn’t really poetry.
It is honesty and wishful thinking with sentence breaks.
This is the only way I know how to communicate.
My mouth is letting breaths pass through
the shapes of my tongue, the curve of my mouth
without actually speaking.
My skin blends into the curtains.
On windy days,
I am a ghost
and I have no shadow.
I am existing without actually living,
looking without seeing,
hearing without listening,
touching without loving.
— 7:06 p.m. (via expresswithsilence)
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Whenever I’m giving advice to myself, I always say the same thing:
Start where it hurts. Start where it started hurting, and then go from there.
So, high school. When I start growing and never stop. When I hear the phrase ‘fat girl’ and immediately know that it isn’t a good thing. When I don’t kiss anyone and no one kisses me. When I know how to keep a crush a secret better than anyone. When I’m so lonely I can’t even feel it, until someone points it out and I realize I’m bleeding.
It hurts when I stop taking ‘you’re pretty for a fat girl’ as a compliment.
It’s like waking up and seeing that everything is on fire. That it always has been. It’s like suddenly realizing that you’re living in a burning house that you can’t leave. It hurts everywhere, and all the time. It hurts like a bad back. It hurts like when my sisters call me turtle because of the way I try to make myself smaller in crowds, and yeah, it gets easier, but no one ever joins the party. No one ever teaches you how to stand up straight.”
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