4:02am. We Were Always Doomed Weren’t We? On The Drive Home, Listening To Bottlemen And Waiting For

Forough Farrokhzad, from Another Birth: Selected Poems of F. F.; “In The Dark,”

something so quiet about his kiss, so secretive. his mouth wide open, swallowing truths and honey and hushed moans. hands that render me silent to everything, weak at the knees and falling head first into something so soft. something that’ll break my fall. passionate love that is not loud or arrogant. a love that beckons me towards it with little more than a whisper.

Hozier, ‘Cherry Wine’

[Text ID: “I’m all but washed In the tide of her breathing.”]

here darling. summer isn’t so bright this year so come lean on my shoulder and baptise your sorrows in the valleys of my body. I know you’re crumbling under the weight of it all so lean on me until you’re strong enough to walk again. some flowers don’t have sturdy stems, and that’s okay. doesn’t make them any less beautiful, right? let my arms be your peace until the world outside stops sounding so much like violence, the chaos and busyness of it all. come, my love. mind over matter. you’ll start feeling like yourself again, I promise. love is being the hook, line and sinker. love is being the fish and the fisherman. love is knowing that sometimes it isn’t 50/50, that sometimes I must give more than I take. but love is also knowing you’d do the same for me any day of the week.

trigger warning: self harm

it’s been a year since I last hurt myself, an addiction that took all my willpower to overcome. I know I can fashion words into something beautiful but there was nothing pretty about all that self-hatred, all that anger, loss and pain. all that pain coiled in my stomach, gnawing at me from the inside. there was absolutely nothing beautiful about scarring a body that works so hard to keep going. I can’t make this beautiful or romantic or wistful. but it’s over now. I can breathe. I just want to let that fact be.

Marilyn Monroe (by Sam Shaw 1956)

we found a park bench that fit us perfectly, with our initials etched into it. no kidding. seems like the universe foretold our love before we even knew it existed. and it sounds stupid but what are the chances? anyway, one always tends to romanticise everyday objects when in love.

and it’s beautiful, the way the love I have for you rises and bubbles in my throat, tainting everything with its sweetness. the way that park bench isn’t the same if you’re not there. the way that river by your place reminds me of your whirlpool blue eyes. the way wok noodles don’t taste as good if we’re not eating it together, laughing and sharing the same fork.

in summer, we buy milkshakes and listen to music, lying on each other on the bench. in winter, we cuddle into his big jacket, shivering and sharing a cup of overpriced hot chocolate. a park bench that weathered storms and lifetimes and hundreds of strangers, etched with our love from before we even met. before I fell in love with you. before you first kissed me.

crazy, huh?

altogether too empty to really quite exist. not pretty enough to make people stop and stare but just attractive enough to make a boy fall for the spark in my eyes. I feel like half a person, a waxing gibbous moon. had the potential to be something wonderful. don’t want to be normal or ordinary but I really am nothing special. that’s the curse of living I guess. you gotta live with the fact that you won’t be an elvis or a bowie or a keats.

Lovers,Woodstock,1969.

mustafa and I broke up today. My blue eyed boy is no longer mine. I expected tears to pour out of me, the ground to tear open, the sun to swallow herself with grief. but there is nothing. I feel nothing. he wasn’t the angel I thought he was, this picture perfect boy with a smile like gold. he was just a boy. screwed up and scared and flawed through and through.

said to me my body kept me with him. that passion overcame him and that’s he’s just a man. just a man. how could i expect him to be anything more. said to me the light in my eyes meant nothing to him. said he doesn’t see the point in staying. I felt the breath catch in my throat as we said goodbye at the edge of the river.

blue eyed boy. stay safe too.