EARTH TO MORGAN;I am full of ideas yet still never know what to say. Nothing like hot coffee and a cigarette to calm you down. Things weren't always like this, remember? I don't know about much, but I do know you make me the happiest I've ever been. I do know that you're everything I've ever wanted. I do know that nothing's ever felt so perfect, I've never flown quite so high. I do know.
My eyes have many holes
and I am swollen beyond
belief, like a Bible left out
in fall rain, before the snow
when wet is a word used,
for the way we walk.But this isn’t about us, or
at least it didn’t begin that way
and all of a sudden,
I’m right back to writing
about you…
& all your friends are gone, nobody hears you. & all your friends were wrong- nobody cares.
so chin up, cause we’ll drown a little slower.
I’m at Austin Reggae Festival trying to find the exit when a boy stops me. He’s somebody I know and I follow him to a group of people a few hills over. You walk up holding a sock and tell someone to analyze the DNA, you want to know if I’m in the same place you are. I look up at you and you launch into a rant that I sit silently through. I voice that I was just on my way out either way, and you place your hand on your hip and proclaim, “Then go.”
I’m at a family function trying to find a place to sit at the dinner table. I select a seat next to my dad and when I sit down, notice you are in the other seat. You start bawling and I get up and take my plate to the garage, where I eat alone. When I walk back to the doorway I’m trying to hear your conversation, and I am struck by how incorrectly I remember your voice. I go upstairs to my room, where I stand at a desk and organize papers with tears in my eyes. Your sister comes in to say goodbye.
You leave the same impression
Of something beautiful, but annihilating.
To sit on a hotel balcony in Jerusalem
and to write: ‘Sweetly pass the days
from desert to sea.’ And to write: ‘Tears
dry quickly here. This blot is a tear that
made the ink run.’ That’s how they used to write
in the last century. ‘I have drawn
a little circle around it.’
Time passes, as when someone’s on the phone
laughing or crying far away from me:
whatever I hear, I can’t see;
what I see, I don’t hear.
We weren’t careful when we said ‘Next year’
or ‘A month ago.’ Those words
are like broken glass: you can hurt yourself with them,
even slash an artery, if
that’s what you’re like.
But you were beautiful as the commentary
on an ancient text.
The surplus of women in you distant country
brought you to me, but
another law of probability
has taken you away again.
To live is to build a ship and a harbor
at the same time. And to finish the harbor
long after the ship has gone down.
And to conclude: I remember only
that it was foggy. And if that’s the way you remember—
what do you remember?
d15w:
Something Corporate | Konstantine
(via lynnyavantgarde)
in the same way that nobody can make me happier or more sad than you.
didn’t your mother ever teach you how dangerous it is inside your own head?
all this time preparing you, buckle up, sit straight, look both ways before you cross the street- and you took candy from the hands of a stranger, all blind trust and crystalline intentions.
you don’t mean to hurt me, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t.
I know what they meant now, when they tried to tell me how lonely really feels- when you have no outlet for daily stresses.
it’s the Tuesday nights and Saturday mornings I can’t take, wrapped in blankets that should be your arms, questioning fate like it didn’t bring us together.
big girls don’t cry, unless they’re sad.
