Maybe it was your patience. Not just wait in the lobby patience. I’m talking about the kind that understood. The kind that was honest and endearing. Willing, accepting. Patience that did more than tolerate, did more than just sit there and read a year old magazine in a waiting room of cigarette smoke and a plethora of wailing savages. The kind that was neither contrived nor compromised. The kind that endowed its name justice. And it danced in your tongue, its balletic consonants sweeping and spinning till it fell through your heart.

11:15 PM

my favorite sex song

2,810 Plays • 8:24 PM
" Moths fly toward burning bulbs not because they’re drunk
with love or exhausted from flight, wanting to wait out
the pain in their wings, as if waiting was something warm
they could wrap themselves around. They fly and die
simply because they cannot see what we see.
Instead they see stars off in the distance, the same stars
we long ago used to navigate the darkness
we still know nothing about. It’s hard to imagine
what we once needed to know to know where we were.
Without depth, with color, the moths look to the light
until it calls to them. We are good at thinking we can stay.
We are good at finding hurt. I live in a mapped city
that keeps expanding like regret. When I look out the window
I see a house so close I can hear a toilet flush.
At night we take black lights and hunt scorpions
stuck to our stucco walls. I walk around darkening rooms
not in use, but I cannot stop the sun
or streetlights from shining in. We are all aglow.
I don’t want to think about the sun burning
out or the billion small deaths I continue to cause.
Even in the desert, a place whose name I learned
to spell by the sweet treat of its opposite, the extra s
demanding more, even after all these years of genetics,
of rock slides, of canyons cut deep and persistent
as a heart, moths spin in circles toward their stars. "
by “What We Once Needed to Know,” Josh Rathkamp
5:50 PM
" surviving
is the only war
we can afford "
by Margaret Atwood, from “They are hostile nations”
11:11 PM

I knew that my body would regret you someday
but I still went on letting you brand me
with your unfulfilling touch.
Okay, I guess it was my fault.
But I know that behind the
fingerprints and loneliness,
was just a vacant boy searching for
some semblance of courage through
my mouth because he
couldn’t find it in his.
You, a righteous coward pressed against me.
You, who only kissed me to call yourself audacious, then,
after realizing that audacity
was more than just something you can vacuum
from your lover’s throat,
left. You, beyond afraid, beyond vulnerable,
you, lost and indelicate, you,
who was almost there, we,
we were almost there.

8:22 PM
lucajsphotography: Well you only need the light when it’s burning low. Only miss the sun when it starts to snow. Only know you love her when you let her go.     -Passenger
44,734 notes • REBLOG

It’s all just tragic bullshit to me.

5:28 PM
thiswasntme: rain.
28,178 notes • REBLOG
mpdrolet: New York City, 1969 Elliott Erwitt
276 notes • REBLOG

I’m lost in a world where exhaustion is liquified as gasoline.

Where hollowness is currency.

So I paint my eyes insomniac and hope that it pays tomorrow’s electricity bills. And hope that tomorrow’s electricity bills are mailed in time.

But if you read enough of the wrong books, punctuality becomes a crime

I am so tired and we are so oblivious and I don’t understand how easy it is for people to find the door to tranquil slumber when all I can think about is how we’re encased inside a failing atmosphere

And all I can think about is how you are there and I am here and that’s become such a sad cliche and I think about how that’s become such a sad cliche and why

The aesthetics in social networking probably

But that’s not the point. The point is that I have all these photos taped on a pink crochet string which cascades down my wall and not one photo frames me with you

and yes, it is a genuine dilemma because I had everything planned out for us and we were supposed to do really cute, puke-rendering things like slow dance at Twin Peaks after midnight and watch the sunset from then on but

shit happens next to love. And I keep raking through the memories to find at least a miniscule distinction between the two. But instead, I’m just finding it easier to interrelate them so

here’s the thing.

I miss you. And I’m probably the millionth, if not, billionth person to write about missing someone at almost three in the morning. But I miss you, and I’m feeding on all the lost sleep and all the guarding street lamps and every hooded man walking these lethal hours of night. Because I don’t have enough in my wallet to buy actual food like happiness and rest and at the same time pay for what has been one of the biggest mistakes I’ve made

which

was letting you go.

So cheers to you and cheers to such a wakeful mind and troubled heart.

And cheers to the next dawn.

2:57 AM

You Always Hurt The One You Love | The Mills Brothers

183 Plays • 12:02 AM
399,859 notes • REBLOG
1,555 notes • REBLOG
" It must have been astonishing, to be given the key to the kingdom and see it turn in our hands so easily. "
by Dash and Lily’s Book of Dares, Rachel Cohn & David Levithan
11:19 PM

It’s hard approaching rest
next to someone with vacancy signs plastered across his chest.
Infantile breaths, my heartbeat was helpless at the way you slept.
At the way love crept
at my pulse like three am tremors and five am freight trains until the stains you wanted to mend became the scars that you purposely left. Fifty two pick up at every corner. Twisted my veins into barbed wire fences at every border. And you laughed at the disorder
that encompassed your creation. At the way my respiration
sounded like the dragging of my carcass as you turned your back but
It’s hard approaching rest when your absence breaks
every vacancy sign I’ve nailed across my chest.

8:56 PM