a collection of sunsets - from home to here
I fell in love as autumn came, and it’s interesting to warm up as the world cools around you: to see trees dry up as you are just beginning to sprout, and birds flock away from your sky as you are starting to feel like you can sing.
If loving is learning I’ll always be lost between library shelves and I have come to terms with that. I have come to terms with never seeing daylight again.
I love now and I will love exponentially more in ten years - I don’t know how to cope with that yet, but I know that’s growing up and growing outwards to accommodate my ever-expanding heart, and I know it hurts.
People will tell you that you’re naive, and it will hurt you to your guts. You will want to explode in a loud burst of red all over them and the pavement and scream,
‘THIS IS VALID, AND THIS IS MINE.’
And so you should!
The choice to lie quiet and unwary - especially in the face of a world telling you that your life is going to plummet down around your ankles one day - is painstakingly overthought and delicate. You will know exactly what you are doing, and you will think, ‘I’m not like the others.’ And you aren’t, because you know exactly what you are doing. That doesn’t guarantee you anything, of course. You know that. Everything is temporary.
Your heart will be broken, whether it is for the first time or for the last. But you will recover, you will rise, and you will love again, and you will love just as hard.
I take comfort in my so-called innocence - it is huge and overwhelming, but it is a Friday night in, not a safety net, and I wouldn’t trade a broken-in living room and a hand to hold for anything.
"It’s really scary, because if you fall it’s a long way down and there’s no way back up."
chicago: an unconventional skyline
i really like virginia, it reminds me of a long time ago
don’t fucking fold up the poems i write you
into your breast pocket and say,
‘they’re close to my heart.’
rip them to shreds and sprinkle them over your cereal.
digest them. digest me.
if my words are meant to worm their way into your heart,
let them start in your stomach, and work their way into your bloodstream,
because a man’s stomach is the quickest way to his heart, right?
It is okay to miss people, I promise. It may not feel like it when you see the long-distance couple who watch each other’s faces over a screen every night, when the grandfather you barely grew to know dies and the funeral is far away from home and takes a week.
Absence is not a competition - it is a silence; it is a powerful and painful quiet in the face of yawning swathes of land between you and home, and it is your job to make it back in one piece, or shattered into shards with the heavy hope that what’s on the other side will painstakingly glue you back together.
'Home' is a place I paint on the inside of my chest in delicate red, blue and white - postal colours, like the letters I write every morning. It is only in my head, and on the other end of a phone, and it's scary to think that what is eight thousand miles away now was once at the end of my arm, or pressed against me so tightly. 'Home' is strolling through your veins, dusting the cobwebs from the inside of your head and drawing the blinds from behind your eyes every morning.
I miss the ocean air like it is my lifeblood - it grows outside of itself, larger than life and larger than me and I am nothing but sand on the shore being pulled into the waves, praying for them to take me home.
los angeles is a strange place
i am going to miss this
last sightings of home