One day you’re all, “I’m so happy being single, I’d be fine never getting married” and thinking about traveling the world and how awesome life is without a boyfriend/husband to boss you around.
And then you’re in an apparently long-term and very long-distance relationship that your parents don’t approve of.
Also have you ever heard of Pomskies? They’re half Pomeranian, half Husky. Friggin’ adorable.
So cute. So, so, so cute.
The sunshine is still here, just… reflected back. I am the moon tasting of the sun in the nighttime. The past distorts, shines brighter, cuts deeper, gives off radiation so strong my hair falls out. Everything grows back, eventually, but sobriety is a far cry from dawndrunk and I am still waiting for sunrise. I am a starfish cut in half. Half of me takes a plane to New Jersey. Half stays here. I cook half of what I would be cooking, I drive my car half as much. You are out there living the rest of what I should have. You go out. I work. I go out. You look for work. I search for a window back to you. The internet connection is slow and I think of turtles and weddings and a steady income to raise two children on. I wait. See you soon is a drastic overstatement. I will see you. That is all.
what is this? what what what.
so beautiful. Rumi is always beautiful. always contemplating changing my religion to rejoicing Sufism.
A spirit that lives in this world
and does not wear the shirt of love,
such an existence is a deep disgrace.
Be foolishly in love,
because love is all there is.
There is no way into presence
except through a love exchange.
If someone asks, But what is love?
answer, Dissolving the will.
True freedom comes to those
who have escaped the questions
of freewill and fate.
Love is an emperor.
The two worlds play across him.
He barely notices their tumbling game.
Love and lover live in eternity.
Other desires are substitutes
for that way of being.
How long do you lay embracing a corpse?
Love rather the soul, which cannot be held.
Anything born in spring dies in the fall,
but love is not seasonal.
With wine pressed from grapes,
expect a hangover.
But this love path has no expectations.
You are uneasy riding the body?
Dismount. Travel lighter.
Wings will be given.
Be clear like a mirror
Be clean of pictures and the worry
that comes with images.
Gaze into what is not ashamed
or afraid of any truth.
Contain all human faces in your own
without any judgment of them.
Be pure emptiness.
What is inside that? you ask.
Silence is all I can say.
Lovers have some secrets
That they keep.
come back and fix everything.
my thoughts don’t seem to press well together, now a dirty tangle of threads instead of the once-bright tapestry. I can’t think what picture must be woven, the one so clear to me a week ago today is dim as dreams, thick fog, impenetrable. (I was somewhere else) or Soon, I will find myself waking up, shaking sweating and relieved. I will pour myself into your arms. “I had the worst dream….” Reality will be blinding us, sunrise through picture windows. This will not happen. The only present-tense that weakens my eyesight is darkness. I feel my way through four hundred days, scrape my shin on five hundred and seventy six thousand minutes, the miles an impossible maze between us. The time, moreso. This is not anguish. This is dull, confused, gray-skies ache. Your “I love you” feels more like a bruise than a promise. I am becoming far too skilled at goodbye poetry.
well, maybe… if you’re in the right mood..
Just got my first smartphone EVARRRR, a going away present from my boyfriend (it’s his old iphone). I spend all day googling “best free apps” and just generally wasting time under the pretense of “this will get my life organized.”
It’s pretty magical. And time-consuming.
Here is something very disjointed, perhaps you will like it. (Not sure if I do yet, but feel the need to post something of substance.
I’ve been meaning to ask you
whatever happened to your
picture window heart?
such a bold move
everyone thought you were
all that glass
there are too many stone-throwers
too many blunt objects
you were the bravest one
no bars, no gate
the fresh air always came in
through spiderweb cracks
you were the opposite of claustrophobic
the sky poured in and
you inhaled everything
caught them and wore them
as heavy clothing
that could get you through