December 2010
32 posts
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This is the one song I can listen to that reminds...
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“I’m for anything that gets you through the night, be it prayer,...”
– Frank Sinatra
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There are good days, then there are bad days. Good days when I can curl up into his arms and sigh relief, or when beneath me I have the raw warmth and power of a horse, or when rain and snow soaks everything and I have a reason to stay indoors and out of the way of society where I tend to screw everything up with aplomb. Bad days where I look through pictures of you and me still saved in plain...
soul-surfer:
Death Cab for Cutie | Christmas...
Crybye
dearoldlove:
I didn’t realize it then, but I think you cried that night because you were saying goodbye.
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Smile
What existence do I have when I am Reliant on pills to sleep, to operate, to stave off chest-crushing weight, maybe of disappointment, or regret? Craving incessantly, madly to pinpoint what it is, exactly. Maybe just to know if it’s yours, or mine. Just anything so I can sleep. Anything so that this mattress, this flytrap Feels more like home and less like a predator. I close my eyes,...
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“I’ve been fanning flames from these...
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cold morning.
I fell asleep last night, and there you were. You were finally home, but not for long; a week, maybe? I saw you, perhaps near the docks, and asked if you would spend just a little time with me, though I knew you’d be busy with other friends and family. You agreed, pulled me into a hug, and when you pulled away: gave me that look. The look I’ve been missing for a year and a half. I hate...
Pre-Bye-Bye
dearoldlove:
Our last goodbye didn’t feel like anything. I had already said goodbye to you a long time before that.
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the poem that was left out.
“Foreign Country”
You come back new, but I am worn and old, broken in from the weight of our distance, and from the grit of our sleepy, dead beat town. We’re walking on eggshells in this foreign country - this enemy territory - lying as a new barrier between us. Just enough caring, yearning, in you to stay for a while, though you’ll have to go soon anyways, I know. Such is our...
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technique.
Today, he watched me paint. There is something so intimate in allowing another person to see how you create; to understand your technique. It is letting him know that every 4-5 brushstrokes/alterations, I step back to examine it’s overall effect. That, instead of brushes, I sometimes smooth edges of the oil paint with my fingertips. To see how, by the end of my studio time, my hands are dappled...
first snow.
It’s finally snowing here. It makes me think of that first winter we had together, before either of us had a car to drive, and we trod home through the muddy, slushy streets. It was still snowing, softly; I was having fun jumping through the 3 foot banks already collected on the sides of the road. You decided to tackle me down into a particularly deep one, and I squealed as snow was stuffed...
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“And I check the weather wherever you are...