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In my most vulnerable moments (intoxicated, 3am, on an airplane, etc.), I remember all of my ālove youās; each person Iāve held tenderly in my heart and body; each friend Iāve shared late nights and soul secrets with. Do they know that they still hold a piece of me, that I still hold a piece of them? Do they know that the hum of a song, or the smell of backwoods, or the words on a page conjure their being in my mind? Do they know how often I think of them, how often I jog my mind back a few months or years to our casual and frequent visits? Our traditions? What comes of these faded soul ties; do I fumble with the frays and let go? Do I memorialize them in some kind of journal, a photo, an occasional phone call? How do I say goodbye to all of my ālove youās?
Jan 4, 2025
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In threefold lives and twofold tears I hold my breath but I canāt pretend itās not happening anymore. I keep finding myself saying āweāre graduatingā again and again with no intonation because I truly donāt know what to feel. Maybe itās a manifestation or maybe itās just a recognition of the eventual, the eventuality of the end of the various hues Iāve been painted with at scad. In my minds eye lives a collage of all of the people whom Iāve cherished for four, (or five years if you count dual enrollment), to say I love them is an egregious understatement. To say I will miss them is simply diminishing an actuality. With me I carry this collage of love it keeps me warm when I am cold, and tender when I am stone. I helped me grow into my bones. Seen me and shone, people Iāve adored. I leave this place adorn with knowledge and love and a want for more.Ā Ā Chest heave practical in armor, holding onto the alternate dream of me, hoping, hoping for an offer, offering a life I am to live, if I just turn and run, if I just turn and run this time, lime green coconut leaves, spotted bedroom sheets, but the change is making me feel like iāve already tried to hold myself a million little times,Ā Ā I try again, felicity in the way I falter, tell you endlessly, screaming colors of the ocean, push me in I adore it, let me live, I pour it out, strangers color me in the night, pieces of each of our mind, in a way we see each other demise each time, turn in, torn into sequins, sequential nightmares, its going to just end, in a way that I sink through the sun, into I construe again, I was just eighteen when I started this, made some friends I cherish, even, even if I lose them, Iāll still have a memory, of my beloveds smiling back at me, seen me grow, seen me weak, bleeding in through my knees, crying on their shoulders, painful hollow little laughter, walking through a tunnel, holding onto each other, Iāll love them like no other like a dream, no other could it be, in my perfect dream, many lifetimes lived with thee.Ā
17h ago
ā
you know,
all i like to write about is love.Ā
writing is easier when itās about your own personal experiences of grief, of pain
but love is the beautiful dove of the twoĀ
released at a funeral, released at a wedding.
,
because the definition is different for everybody.
ā
the trees rustle again tonight, and the wind gently taps on the windowpane, begging again to be let in
and my thoughts race farther and faster in the night than a pure-bred, hot-blooded racehorse, bucking wild for the first time
my mind buzzes, stricken like a gong, reverberating in the quietness of tonight
as i drag myself closer to you,
you reach out for me, an unspoken, gentle and devout prayer, asking for me in the unspeakable words conveyed in a whisper through actions
ā
i promised you a fantastical world of your own, where you are safe, through my own creation.
i have created for you in the heart of my own somewhere for me to love you,Ā
fully and infinitely with all of myself.
if this is not where you are safe, then there is nothing else.
āĀ
word by word and sentence by sentence
i create dreams i would never tell anybody
not even under the skies of a cloudless night.
when i sleep, i tuck my hopes and sadness under my pillow
and hope a fairy will kidnap it and place in that spot
something i should need more.
but night after night, my dreams just macerate in the container of my heart.
soon, i will drink them like an elixir of truth
and what i am afraid of will come
3d ago
For someone who claims to identify so closely with solitude, uncovering just how tethered I was to the emotions of people I love was a crispy realization. Of course, that attachment is the basis for any kind of relationship. You cannot claim to āhave someoneā in your life if you do not feel some kind of emotional connection towards them. The stronger the connection, the stronger the relationship. We all know this. However, there is something to be said about a relationship that is ātoo goodā; a bond so strong due to its shocking lack of tension. In hindsight of various broken and fragmented connections Iāve been apart of, any relationship that exists while remaining entirely unscathed now kind of terrifies me.
I believe there can be such a thing as ātoo much loveā, and I think those who have given or received it know when they have done so. Itās a mistake anyone is capable of making. Imagine a relationship so polished, free from any erosion (visible or otherwise); seemingly perfect. This type of connection can only be established through a building of trust and an abundance of time. However, Iāve come to learn that the more impeccable bonds tend to break easy when faced with their first real blow. Birds only crash into the cleanest of glass.
*"If music be the food of love, play on; / Give me excess of it...*"
I donāt want excess. For the food of love, I am no glutton. I eat until I am full and push my plate aside. I used to love like my life depended on it. I put those people whom I adored on the highest of pedestals, framed them in my gallery and admired new details every time we shared a visit. Maybe I just hadnāt been wronged enough to ever think that I could be wounded by those I dote on so heavily. What is it with loving and being loved that makes feeling hurt seem so impossible? Why must love shatter all preconceived expectations of what emotion is? Is love really so massive, so gargantuan that it conquers all other feeling?
Yes, and no. At least thatās what I think. This is all just what I think. I donāt want to come across as some great romantic or lovesick puppy or old friend. Iām just trying to figure out the right way to love, like everyone else.
Mar 16, 2025
