happy

with the saddest smile, she said,
whatever makes you happy.

honey

i.
honey -
on the tip of my tongue it lingers
honey -
how was your day?

I want to wrap you up and around between my arms with my legs squeezing you tight hoping to make you feel the warmth that's swelling from my chest and I want to call you
honey

ii.
honey -
but we're not quite there
honey -
so I bite it back

Speaking to me softly thoughts swirling around this way and that wondering do you don't you will you won't you but I won't let myself linger because I could get stuck in your words of
honey

iii.
I think that you could love me so sweetly
like honey
but I'm scared to ask you to try

Sleep

I either lose sleep
for you
or
because of you.

- Kayla Hollatz, "Slumber"

You

I want to spill all my secrets to you. I want to tell you all the things I've never told a soul. I want to tell you everything I'm feeling, everything I'm scared of, everything I'm thinking of in this moment. I want to stay in bed with you and exchange stupid jokes and life lessons in the same breath. I want you to pry into my heart and my soul, I want you to be there, I want you to ask all the things that no one's asked me before, and I want you take me for what I am and what I'm not.

Dreaming

I'm dreaming of a rainy day, followed by a stormy, chilly night. And the power going out, and bringing the candles out, and not wanting to step a single toe out. I'm dreaming of becoming mountains, with blankets and blankets piled atop us, and only a couple fingers peeking out to put down our cards. I'm dreaming of the chill creeping toward us, but the laughter and delight warming us from within. I'm dreaming of a late, dark, night, filled with simple pleasures and cheer, filled with love so warm, it keeps the shivers at bay. I'm dreaming.

Shooting Stars Behind Closed Eyes; Hidden Wishes

As I finally laid my weary head down, trying to calm the whispers in my mind
I squeezed my eyes shut and saw
a shooting star

and instantly thought
Of you.

Love

"I don't want your love unless you know I am repulsive, and love me even as you know it."

- Georges Bataille, My Mother

Backdrop

"You want me to be a tragic backdrop so that you can appear to be illuminated, so that people can say 'Wow, isn't he so terribly brave to love a girl who is so obviously sad?' You think I'll be the dark sky so you can be the star? I'll swallow you whole."

- Warsan Shire

Kisses to the Wind

Standing, with the cool night air
all around,
I'll look at the street
   the trees
      the stars and
you will pass my mind.

And I'll blow kisses to the wind
   send them sailing with the breeze
      with some strange hope of reaching
you.

A Late Walk

"When I go up through the mowing field,
       The headless aftermath,
Smooth-laid like thatch with the heavy dew,
       Half closes the garden path.

And when I come to the garden ground,
       The whir of sober birds
Up from the tangle of withered weeds
       Is sadder than any words.

A tree beside the wall stands bare,
       But a leaf that lingered brown,
Disturbed, I doubt not, by my thought,
      Comes softly rattling down.

I end not far from my going forth
       By picking the faded blue
Of the last remaining aster flower
       To carry again to you."

- Robert Frost, "A Late Walk"


That last stanza -- beautiful. It makes me sad, in a melancholic way.

Will You Still Love Me On Sunday?

It’s so easy to be head-over-heels under the loud music and the overfull glasses of Saturday night. Everyone loves each other, everyone wants to be best friends. Everyone sees only the best in everyone else. And there is a certain magic in Saturday night, as though you’re so far inside the weekend — so buffered on each side from the unforgiving reality of the weekdays — that everything is possible and real if you want it to be. You say things you might not mean on Monday morning, because for the moment in between the sixth and seventh drink on Saturday, it’s all you can think about.

------

But when you wake up on Sunday morning, when your head hurts so badly you feel as though it will never return to normal, when everything that was beautiful and mysterious the night before has been rendered harsh and unflattering in the relentless daylight — will you still want to turn over to me? Will you still be interested in all of the things I have to say, all of the coincidences we took as divine intervention last night when we were only so happy to tell each other how we feel? If the facilitators of alcohol and dim lights and a group of laughing around us are no longer part of the equation, do you still want to hold my hand?

------

I will love you on Sunday. If I told you all of these beautiful things when we were standing under the red light of the bar, peeling the label off a beer bottle, it’s because I want you to remember them the next day. I want to pounce on my momentary lack of inhibitions to say all of the things I’ll later want to sweep under the rug, but which I truly mean. I am telling you these things on Saturday because I won’t be able to on Sunday, but I’ll want you to know that I mean them. And I hope you know me well enough to know that I never say anything I don’t mean — even if they’re a bit embarrassing to remember in the morning.

Will You Still Love Me On Sunday? | Thought Catalog

Kisses

"I love you. I love you. I love you." He repeated time and time again, kissing her fists, her scars, her fingers, her wrists, her hands, her knuckles, her palms. Thoughts, feelings, words, hopes and fears swirled in her mind, and her mouth opened - silent. Instead of release, instead of letting her go, they grasped at her throat, clawing, and choked her from the inside out. Her head swayed slightly, side to side, and she tensed fleetingly, unable to bring her exhausted, diffident eyes to the eager, desperate ones that were fixed on her, a mere face-lengths away. Again, she opened her mouth; again, she closed it - silent. "But I love you."

Let's Take a Train Ride to Anywhere

Let's take a train ride to anywhere and when we get there we won't know where we are and we won't care. We'll find a coffee café and drink some espressos and lounge in the chairs outside, and maybe have a cigarette. We'll converse for a while and then sit quietly because we don't need words to fill the spaces between us and we'll just breathe in the moment and then breathe it out. I'll smile at you and you'll wink back and then we'll have a laugh, realizing that several hours have passed and it's time to be on our way. We'll get back on that train and maybe doze a little bit to the rhythmic turnings of the wheels on the tracks and when we finally arrive, we'll collapse on the couch and dream of future train rides, together and apart.

Patience

Be steady, my heart. Good things come to those who wait.

Distance

They say that distance makes the heart grow fonder, but no - no, this isn't true. Distance simply gives a delusion of fondness. The further away you are, the more appealing it (whether it be a person or place) appears. The faults and shortcomings shrink, producing a false portrayal of perfection. Your memories trick you into viewing it through a more pleasant, more loving, more joyful filter, making whatever your current state is seem so incredibly dull and ordinary.

The mind loves to play its tricks, always teasing with skewed nostalgia, always making you want something that is no longer (or not yet) within your reach. Distance does not make the heart grow fonder; it tricks the heart into fondness.

Best Friends

I'm so inexplicably blessed by the best friends that I have, by the fact that I'm lucky enough to have more than one and by the fact that they are such glorious, wonderful, kind, beautiful people. (They're also selfish and sarcastic and stubborn and snippy, but in spite of it all - astounding.) Sometimes I take them for granted, but then other times I get caught up in thinking about them and I don't understand how I came to be so fortunate. To have these people with whom I can share my life and my mind - it's an incredible godsend.

My best friends, I miss you.
Always, with much love, I miss you.

Forget Me Not

Over the weekend, Laura and I found a thrift store that had a ton of old post cards in several boxes. So being the curious and bored kids that we are, we leafed through them for a while. It was so amazing because a great deal of them were from the early 1900s! And also it really made us think. No one sends post cards any more. The things that were written on these cards ranged from "Just saying hi" to "Saw this and thought of you" to "The vacation is going great;" things that we would just text! I don't know, maybe it's really not that interesting, but I found it fascinating. And then I found this postcard.

As you can see, the front says "Forget me not." And then the note on the back says "Just a line to show you, you are not forgotten by the girl you can't forget."

If that is not the sweetest thing, I don't know what is. Just a simple, short, sweet love note. Too bad people don't do things like that anymore.

Feigning Affection

If you don't mean it, don't say it.

Now, I am not speaking of careless banter or simple conversation or inconsequential chatter, for Lord knows, I dole out my fair share of sarcastic and, granted, at times snarky remarks, but that is a separate ordeal. I am not referring to everyday, colloquial occurrences. Rather, I am speaking of words that are said when it comes to expressing affection. Whether it be in a deep friendship or casual association, if the sentiment isn't true, simply don't say it. The words may not necessarily be lies, but overuse of once considerate remarks leads only to the degradation of formerly meaningful expressions. Soon enough, articulating that you care for another, or even love them, becomes trite and insignificant. And that doesn't do any good for anyone.

So if you don't mean it, don't say it.
It really is that simple.