THIS IS NOT A LOVE STORY

and i am not in love with you.

[excerptsofstories]

“I guess I allowed myself to be surrounded by noise after yours went radio silent because only in silence could I hear your distant voice from my memories. And so the days after you left me hanging, I spent filling the blank bars which missed your voice with others sounds. I feared the silence and ran away from it, finding every excuse to laugh, to smile and talk, to listen. I found every excuse to listen because maybe if I listened to other voices enough, yours would stop being familiar, maybe the way you pronounce my name would feel foreign and maybe, just maybe I won’t feel broken hearted. In my family, you don’t get a lot of silence anyway. And so I listened and listened, ignoring that a part of me looked for your voice in the chaos I created to make it fade. But in the unavoidable silent moments, I heard you loud and clear, I could hear nothing but you. You made it hard to sleep, I could hear you, and you made it hard to breathe or think, all you were was an echo in my head but your voice never became distant and it was never forgotten. This voice I heard was only fake, for the voice I had learned so well never reached out for me, and I never heard it pass your lips again. The one I heard was a fake voice and a figment of my imagination. Still all you are is a fake presence. A fake memory in this fake noise I created to ignore the fake voice in the horrifically real silence.”

— Excerpt from a book I will never write #1389 // ig @laylazatar

[americansport-deactivated201912]

Manhattan? Like, the island?

I am sitting on somebody’s stoop and nobody has a cigarette for me, for stoop-girl.

For skipping her classes until her teachers are worried girl,

For yes, I can tell you’re a couple girl, for it’s the way you walk, for it’s the way you look at her girl.

Like can you look at me that way girl.

I’ve been in churches before. I play the same songs over and over like they might go away if I don’t.

Is 10am too early to buy watercolors?

I want to paint the machines drilling into New York like don’t you know we’re an island?

Mom, we’re gonna drown.

Mom, come get me.

Mom, nobody has a cigarette for me.

Mom, you have one don’t you?

For your ashtray daughter?

[wnq-writers]

“The more difficult the message, the more necessary it is to be said.”

— N.M.Sanchez

[francismacomber-blog]

This has been in my notes since December. I think.

Whenever I want to go back to a time I felt a kind of blinding, ultraviolet happiness, I think about you and the time that we spent between the reality of facts and a kind of self imposed fiction. You made me feel young, not in the sense that an elderly man feels young again, but rather in a kind of way that reminded me that existence isn’t a dragged out form of dying. I hope to feel that way again someday.

You’ve got someone else now and I admit it makes me kind of happy, but at the same time it makes me want to scream and tear the fabric of reality to shreds. You should be mine, in the capacity that a person can be of another person, the way a brain is a part of person, creating and maintaining them. I know that you should be, but I don’t have any claim to you. I won’t try to, because I don’t really consider that fair; you know how I felt about chains. You really don’t owe me anything, and I understand that.

I don’t know what I expected, now that I look back on things. Your life goes on without me and there’s nothing I can do to stop that. It’s like when we’d be together and I’d think things were great so I’d try to hold on, focusing in on everything so I could relive it, keeping it alive in my memory so I’d never lose it. Just like then I could hold the image but I couldn’t keep the film reel from rolling, and eventually the day would be over. Your film reel keeps rolling, and I guess I don’t get to keep any images from it anymore.

If I’m to be honest about the whole thing I think you should stay with him. Was I ever really worth what it came down to? I’m overrated. I say you should just place your bets on a winner and not on a contingency.

When we were in bed together I always thought about sand. Hands on waists, nose against nose, like grains of sand, two little manifestations of existence held together to be one mass. The covers swept over us like clouds. Just two grains of sand. Chest against chest, like we were bound. Your body was smaller than mine, so everything felt dangerous, and I felt like I wanted to be careful. Was I? Your skin was like the glass in mirrors. Just two grains of sand. We seemed to propel closer as if we could fuse. It was a kind of unconscious move on both parts, like a shared lie or sense of belief. You don’t talk to me about him. I feel like that’s a kind of favor. We’d always have music in the background. You liked how much I loved music and you liked to hear what I liked. She Wore Blue Velvet, Bluer Than Velvet Was The Night. You told me you loved me. Softer Than Satin Was The Light. I love you too. From The Stars, She Wore Blue Velvet. Like two grains of sand.

[andthisisnotalovestory]

in my mind there is a palace.

it is large and grandiose, but not in the way that royal palaces are.

no, those are too empty and void for me.

in this palace it is filled top to bottom with love.

it is found in the books that pile up over the years–

so many worlds trapped within my mind to travel back to.

it is found in the paintings i carefully craft each day,

spilling my heart in the form of colors and textures.

it is found in record players that remember the soundtrack to my life,

always finding a song to fit the moment when needed.

and it is found in you.

and that is why my palace must be large and grandiose.

my love, it overflows and floods through the windows and doors

into the garden of my mind to create the most beautiful roses and daisies,

and overpowers the lonely rivers that used to run.

it nourishes the sapling that began to grow the first time we met

until it will become a large cherry blossom embodying rings 

for all the years it ages, but never dies;

forever allowing its petals grace the land with soft touch and aromatic pleasure.

everyday i want to open another book, another world,

and go on those adventures with you, and i want to be able to express 

my love for you in a thousand different paintings, and share our favorite songs 

even if it means that record player must play forever.

everyday i tend those gardens that you helped me grow, because without it,

i am just another vacant castle.

it is all for you.

in my heart and in my mind, there is always a place

for you.

[mockiato-deactivated20200315]

The other day I was washing my hands and another woman came out the stall a couple seconds after I did. She wasn’t cis, and a different woman waiting for someone to finish up looked angry and opened her mouth to say something. Before she could, I smiled real friendly a this woman who’s just trynna wash her hands and told her I loved her skirt, and we started talking clothes.

The waiting woman was still clearly pissed but she didn’t say anything because she knew I wouldn’t have her back. That’s all it took to keep some poor lady just trynna scrub up from getting harassed.

Sometimes doing the right thing is really hard and kinda scary. Other times all it takes is making it clear that you won’t support someone’s nastiness. It’s a little enough thing to do your part.

[lettersfromleviathan]

Small Phenomena

The sense of you is present, but you yourself are not. In this space, in me, you linger like the dust after a comet. Inhale, deep, warm, sweet cherries in the wind That wrap and wrap and wrap and wrap and Settle me here, home.

Physics bend, time shifts, cosmic order takes vacation Winks and whispers, “have fun, kids” on their way out of the door. This fabric is woven from the fur of Schdrodinger’s cat, An oddity/marvel/miracle fueled by you and you alone.

It’s reflection is a handshake/gift/a sunny benediction, An omelette and a memory, a kiss upon the head. It’s a lazy Sunday morning, yes you know which one exactly, The one you always picture when you read it in a poem.

I pull it down over my hands, pull it up over my nose Allow myself to fall, to float now, teleported there to you I throw myself directly in the pool of hyperbole, Blow all the bubbles out, cross-legged on the floor-

[shareaquote]

And like the setting sun I feel that I am at my best when I’m inching closer, ever so closer, to my inevitable final burst of color

Nicholas A Browne | Prose 50 (via wnq-writers)

[wnq-writers]

Some days I’m Van Gogh’s Starry Night other days I’m his suicide letter.

souu-h  (via wnq-writers)

[depressionintechnicolor]

Vincent Van Go Fuck Yourself

(This is not a Vincent Van Gogh hatred poem)

You can drink all the yellow paint you want until it supersedes your blood,  but when it dries up and clings to anything like you will,  your veins won’t rain sunshine, but illusion your disposition instead. You could hack away at your appendages, place them haphazardly, and try to leave behind something of substance, but sustenance will seldom be of use when you have no way to. You can draw self portraits of sunflowers, and try to imagine being at their heights, but you will be harvested for all your black seeds, and cut down if you’re unlucky. You could immerse yourself in swirling blues, and find variance in the dark of night, but I do not burn to be your muse anymore. You can build the most opulent solitude, but you will find a way to house intrusive voices. You will cater to only that which eats you alive.

[coltre]

[excerptsofstories]

And when it comes to falling for you
 it is not a brisk and graceful fall. 
It is not into the soft grass that I was already standing in, 
it’s like being pushed off the empire state building, 
no parachutes, 
no bungee cords, just a straight drop
. And for some reason 
gravity has an extra strong pull today
 this building only has so many floors 
and I can only fall for so long 
you’re either going to catch me 
or watch me crash.

Excerpt from a book I will never write #1266 // j.s. // when it comes to falling for you  (via excerptsofstories)

[wnq-writers]

There is no sweeter sweetness than the sweetness between us.

Bruce Adler (via wnq-writers)

[andthisisnotalovestory]

a letter to the Boy Who Destroyed Me

to the Boy Who Destroyed Me, i still remember how you serenaded me with songs and poems and chocolates and how i cried that day because no one’s ever done something like that for me before. how you would stay up with me when i was home alone because you knew how much i was scared of being alone, and how we’d find little excuses to be together no matter how busy we were. i was fascinated by you because every guy before you didn’t do anything. guy after guy failed and i learned to give up hope, especially after my unrequited love for this one guy who ended up liking me after, which hurt even more. so you were the first. i still remember how it felt to hug you and how it felt as if your embrace protected me from the dangerous world. but the thing is, you were my world, and you couldn’t protect me from yourself. when we began dating, i didn’t tell my best friend right away. she had also liked you, and that day, she was hurting over another guy. i didn’t want to tell her and hurt her more than she already was, but she found out anyway and it ended up breaking her heart even more knowing i didn’t tell her. i tried convincing myself that i wasn’t at fault because the only reason i didn’t tell her was because i didn’t want to hurt her. but i’d hurt her either way. because i dated the guy we both liked and it would kill her knowing he chose me over her. i didn’t intend on hurting my friendship with her. but you were the first one who made me happy in such a long time that i couldn’t stop myself from saying yes. i didn’t intend to be that person who chooses the guy over the best friend, but was i supposed to give up someone who made me happy? but that would mean giving up a close friend, and i couldn’t tell what was worse. i didn’t know what to do. i am so insanely lucky i made up with her after and that we are even closer friends now. and this is what you couldn’t protect me from. you couldn’t protect me from the disaster you’d bring, the friendships you’d tear apart. how you didn’t believe in love and how i was falling for nothing. from your habit of absentmindedly flirting with other girls or the way you’d slowly but surely lose interest in me, the way your late night paragraphs transitioned into one-word texts that meant nothing. and how you demanded more physical involvement with me each time but i couldn’t give you that. it was too much to ask for so quickly, but you didn’t understand. i felt like my body was all you cared about or that i was just an object to you. it hurt watching whatever feelings you had for me slip away and find itself within another girl who could give you what i couldn’t. don’t tell me you didn’t want to break up with me for her. i knew. i saw you flirting, touching, laughing with her that one night. i knew that you’d practically been cheating on me, with her, in those last two weeks. how you still lied about it even after we’d broken up and i asked. and i remember how you broke up with me a month after we began dating. it was over text, during spring break, on the day of my friend’s birthday in april. i had spent the next few days on vacation trying to have fun and distract myself, trying to forget about what happened. but at the end of each day i’d still silently cry to myself in those hotel rooms wondering what i had done wrong. and then eventually you’d give up the Girl You Broke With Me For to pursue yet another girl. The Girl Who You’d Fall For/Who Was A Close Friend/Who Betrayed Me. the girl whose birthday we broke up on. i always found that kind of funny. i still remember the day you guys started talking, flirting, falling for each other. this time it was on my birthday, in may, a month and a day after we broke up. i didn’t originally plan to do anything but fatefully, a carnival came to town that week. we remained friends after we broke up and i decided to invite you along with the Girl You’d Fall For and some other friends. both of you spent the whole night glued together, starry-eyed together. it hurt watching the Boy Who Destroyed Me/Who I Could Not Get Over and the Girl Who You’d Fall For/Who Was A Close Friend/Who Betrayed Me fall for each other. you both were aware that i was hurting, that i was violently crying on the stupid yo-yo swings as the rushing wind blew my tears back. but you both didn’t care and continued to eye-fuck each other even though my other friends told you guys to just lay off this one night and that’s what hurt the most. and it hurt because i wanted to hate both of you but i couldn’t, and it hurt when you had secretly dated her in june and lied about it, and it hurt because i was the one to comfort her after you cheated and broke up with her a month later and it hurt because i didn’t know why i did that when she fucking deserved it. it hurt because not only did i lose her but i almost lost my closest friend, the one i hurt, and that’s my fault for choosing your stupid ass over her. and then it hurt because you were my first boyfriend and my first kiss and i couldn’t let go, and it hurt when you told me i didn’t matter anymore and that you didn’t want to be friends, and it hurt when we made up because you apologized and i continued to stay with you knowing that at this point i was allowing you to be toxic. and it hurt because i thought about the way i was just another one of your girls that you spent time on and left by the end of the month because you got bored, and it hurt because i knew this would happen but i thought i could change things and i couldn’t, and it hurt because then i felt like i was unlovable. and later, it hurt when The Girl Who Betrayed Me and i got into a fight many months later because tension had grown between us, and it hurt when she threw away everything i’d ever done for her, and it hurt because i was the one who tried to remain civil and fix things in that fight while she insulted me without giving a single fuck and it hurts now because we’re somehow friends again and i want to hate her for calling me all those things and because we never really reached a conclusion about that fight. it hurt because you were the one to cause all of this, and it hurts now because you said you’d stay but you left anyways and it hurts because this is your third time leaving me and it hurts because you left the same way you did those other times and it really fucking hurts because i let you. with everything you did, you did the opposite. i let you complete me, but you also destroyed me. i built a new relationship with you, but at the cost of other friendships. i let you help me through the tough times but in the end you’d leave and i’d fall right back to where i’d started. but because i had the choice to let you, i also have the choice to not let you. and i’m not letting you anymore by letting go instead. and i’ll be okay. i’ve learned that i can find happiness without all those terrible consequences that came with it the way they came with you. it was only with you that that happened. maybe i sound stupid right now, but i think i can actually, finally, fully let you go– as an ex-boyfriend, as an ex-friend, as somebody that i used to know. but if there is one good thing that comes out of all of this, it’s that everything that has happened makes me who i am today. so i thank you for those tragedies, because in the end, something bigger and better has been created out of it. i hope you can learn to find the love you said you didn’t believe in and live a meaningful life, even if that’s without me. 

and so this is to the Boy Who Destroyed Thought He Destroyed Me.

[andthisisnotalovestory]

IF LOVING YOU IS A SIN
 I’D HAPPILY GIVE UP HEAVEN.

[andthisisnotalovestory]

"you know how much I love looking at the sky, but I'd miss a thousand sunsets to look at your eyes"

[forcefullytaken]