It Is Never Too Late To Be What You Might Have Been. -George Eliot

It is never too late to be what you might have been. -George Eliot

More Posts from Ngelo-b and Others

ngelo-b

5 years ago

I live for evening drives with my dad.

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ngelo-b

5 years ago

“Here is something you know: I have always been a sure bet when you were looking for a night of pleasure; it is almost a given with little thought ever provided as to your current relationship status. Here is something you do not know: I have never once enjoyed that kind of intimacy; I allow it because being wanted in any capacity tricks my insecurities into believing, just for a moment, that you love me.”

— K.S. // It is a false validation //

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ngelo-b

2 years ago

Okay...all boards out. Starting afresh.

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ngelo-b

5 years ago

Anyone else notice the paradigm shift in romance movies? The Big Fight used to break your heart, because they had happy endings. Now you hold your breath no one dies.

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ngelo-b

1 year ago

I lived through many seasons of Japril being broken up. Yi-Jin and Hee-do are just a test. I can live with this. There is still time. Red threads of fate, and whatnot. This will not break me.

"You're the calm to my storm. The type to make a deformed man reform. Blessed with a beautiful, mind you inform. I applaud."

I. T. Le'Croc

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ngelo-b

1 year ago

I want to wear more red. I want hope. I want a sure hand in mine at the march. I want the end of genocides. I want videos of rubble played in reverse sucking magnificent structures from blurred pixels. I want love in my inbox, love in my mouth, love in everyone’s mouths. I want a squeeze of lemon. I want hot. I want fast. I want a small steel cup between my fingers. I want fresh ginger. I want romanticism. I want performance. I want our friends, across the city, in their flats, in their rooms, laughing, the lights on, their voices loud and clear. I want mismatched silverware. I want to stay until close. I want the needle in my skin. I want to be the giver and the receiver. I want the irretrievable. I want butter on thick bred with salt. I want blushing. I want a clear sky, long grass, lying on your stomach with my knees up and my hat pulled over my eyes. I want wet soho streets at 3am reflecting red light. I want stripping down to my t-shirt on the tube. I want late-blooming. I want a mirror ball over our heads. I want a dark room full of smoke. I want you laughing in my mouth. I want abolition. I want thrashing in the crowd dancing screaming. I want the email not to find me. I want a perfect pint of guinness on a freezing day. I want ecstasy. I want the real thing. I want a ming vase filled with pistachio cream. I want poetry. I want greedy greedy hope. I want my one time passcode to be coincidentally meaningful. I want your voice notes. I want ridiculousness. I want tomatoes so fresh they could burst in your hands. I want to walk barefoot on the tiles. I want the collapse of a decade of tory power. I want the next breath to be easy. I want a bag big enough to take what I need. I want olive oil. I want the drum beat on a monotonous loop. I want the city. I want eye contact through warped glass. I want plums in the icebox. I want the smell of fire in the air at night. I want fingers under the waistband. I want one more round before we go. I want red ribbon. I want debris of love. I want a party where no one knows anyone. I want warm water. I want to save you at the end.

Last year I wrote wants rather than resolutions. I liked the piece so this time I sat and wrote whatever came to mind, until I wrote 'end', which felt like a natural place to, well,

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