What stubborn children we are
refusing to sleep. The eyes age
with the pallid moon and grow white
as snow. If, when I can bend sky and wind,
I’d sleep, then I can pluck off stars what
moors in my dreams tonight.
Dreams were made to be broken.
They make us realize the things we desire and the things we have.
To imagine living in a five-story and wake up in a three-room apartment surrounded by dirty dishes sounds like a tragedy.
Just remember, at least there was food on those dishes.
As for the house, I dare you to come up enough rooms to fill five floors unless decide to fill your palaces with guest rooms and toilets.
As for me, I barely see my girlfriend, but I dream of us every night sharing laughs and having a good time.
When I wake up, she’s not holding my hand, and my eyes open up to drywall instead of a movie screen.
As much as it hurts to not have her with me, it’d hurt more to not have her at all.
The one or two dates that we had the whole summer can be replayed in my memories as long as I desire.
A dream is not a balloon held by a small child about to pop.
A dream is a piggy bank because you don’t know what you have until it’s shattered.
Dreams were meant to be broken.
Wow. - Timony
Source: SoundCloud / Monsieur_Hardy
I like quiet love.
The kind that speaks
In murmers and mumbles
Over the breakfast table.
The kind that skitters across the floor
To kiss you before they go;
The kind that lets you know
They will come back.
Love like that
Leaves the porch light on.
It reads to you aloud
When you are sick.
It is the mirrored face
Which hangs beyond the door frame
To remind you that things will be fine;
The face that never rearranges
It’s shape when it isnt.
Quiet love keeps me grounded
Without being heavy.
But when quiet love lets go of you,
You can never feel it leaving.
It does not peel itself away like paint
Chipping after too much sun—
You realize the subtleties
After it is already gone.
— Lorne Ryan, Subtleties (via defense-mechanisms)
with neither the gods nor the odds
in my favor, and yet
I deconstruct the self with such finesse
that while I dance, the rest
chew on questions as they watch;
Persephone has been sending me instructions from Hell
and pop the thin film of
with a fingernail.
Here’s to you, Nicola and Bart