“I got this tattoo a couple days before my wedding. My boyfriend, at the time, wrote me a hand-written note on our anniversary that said, ‘You have my heart.’ The first time he ever saw this tattoo was when I met him at the alter. The look on his face will never leave my mind.”
I once read that the ancient Egyptians had fifty words for sand
& the Eskimos had a hundred words for snow.
I wish I had a thousand words for love,
but all that comes to mind
is the way you move against me while you sleep
& there are no words for that.
— Brian Andreas, Story People
The best and most beautiful things in the world
cannot be seen, heard, or even touched,
they must be felt with the heart.
— Helen Keller
It’s crazy scary because this is EXACTLY how I feel right now to the last dot. The person can love me and cherish me and I’d be the happiest person on earth, or break me and curse me and I’ll feel like the most broken anyone has ever felt. It’s ridiculous how we grant so much power to the ones we love but at the same time, don’t calculate the fact how much of that power can be used against us and leave us broken and thrown away like last night’s garbage.
It’s insane because when you think about it, this person that’s in front of you that you’ve been thinking about all day isn’t just there in your head, but in you heart and soul. This person starts creeping into your realm and you start believing that they’re the missing link to your everything and even begin to believe that your existence coincides to their existence.
Just the thought of them make you whistle about through your morning wondering when they’d call next. Your finger itches to check if there were any missed messages or if you should text them first. You look up at the clouds and wonder if they’re looking up at that exact same time too and thinking about you. And as the wind brushes through your hair, you wish it was them sliding their fingers down your hair and it puts a smile to your face just at the thought of it.
It’s scary, I know. Because no one will know just how much this is important to you. No one can feel just how frightening it is that your feelings have ever progressed this far about someone. No one.
I’m mad at myself, not you.
I’m mad for always being nice,
always apologizing for things I didn’t do,
for getting attached,
for making you my life,
depending on you,
wasting my time on you,
thinking about you,
wishing for you,
dreaming of you.
But most of all, for not hating you, which I know I should . . .
But I just can’t.
i tried to forget
but you grew roots around my ribcage
and sprouted flowers
just below my collarbones.
all day i pluck their petals
but i have not yet ascertained
whether you love me
— unknown —
I know that I don’t own you,
and perhaps I never will,
so my anger when you’re with her,
I have no right to feel.
I know that you don’t owe me,
and I shouldn’t ask for more;
I shouldn’t feel so let down,
all the times when you don’t call.
What I feel, I shouldn’t show you,
so when you’re around I won’t,
I know I’ve no right to feel it –
but it doesn’t mean I don’t.
— Lang Leav —
They never really tell you how the moon got all those deep bruises.
The story goes that the sun saw her one night as he was leaving the sky. He was so taken by her silver face, so calm and beautiful, that he felt himself changed at just the sight of her. In a thoughtless trance, he picked up a few stones and threw them towards her in order to get her attention.
But the sun was too strong, and the stones skipped over the black river of the sky and crashed into her with such a force that she fell back. After the stones settled, they began to spread large bruises across her face. The longer the stones stayed, the deeper the bruises got.
The sun watched in horror as her face begun to turn dark and patched with craters the size of the stones. He couldn’t make his way to her, for there was a barrier that kept them from ever touching.
The moon cried, and the oceans swelled under her pain. Her face was no longer the smooth silver jewel it had once been. She looked across the sky and saw the deep orange sun with a stone still in his hand. She never asked him why he did it, and he could never get close enough to tell her that it was because he loved her.
The bruises never faded, and neither did the moon’s sadness. The sun never forgave himself, so at the end of each day, when he saw the moon take her place, he turned deep orange before turning away.
Some days, when they are both seen in the sky together, you can hear the sun trying to tell her that he is sorry, and that her bruises are beautiful.
— alonesomes —
“You’re the only girl I’ve seen for a long time
that actually did look like something blooming.”
— F. Scott Fitzgerald —
From “Tender is the Night“