elise

“you are a pipe dream,” andrew said writer, dreamer, book lover profile pic & background from pinterest she/her

[sadiewinchester]

Maddie: you need to make new friends

Buck: I slept with my ex

Maddie: please learn to be alone

[apipefullofdreams]

if invisible string were about you...

it feels warm when i think about you,

like you’re still pressed up against me

on the blue couch in your apartment, 

the one i slept on from time to time.

i still remember the feel of your tshirt

you gave me to sleep in and i wish,

i had had the foresight to steal it

so i could hold you tight to me.

i used to not understand the song 

“invisible string” but i think sometimes

there was one between us because it took

so long for us to finally speak.

you tried and tried to pull me into your life

and it took a year for that string to pull us

together.

and i haven’t looked back since,

except maybe to wish i had reached out sooner,

hadn’t made judgments,

hadn’t only envied you from afar.

hell was the journey and it brought me…

well, it brought me you.

and i know that when things start to suck again

someday maybe i’ll be able to lay my head on your

chest and it won’t be a joke,

it won’t be pretend,

it won’t be just friends.

someday maybe you’ll whisper to me in the dark

as we’re lying under the same covers

and i’ll love you out loud.

someday maybe i’ll get to love you

out loud. 

[apipefullofdreams]

clean

nearly four years older than i was back then

and i feel my heart as it pieces itself back together,

forgetting you, forgiving you, finding me

amidst the parts of myself i’d given up

to be who you wanted.

i wore pink to my graduation,

a color you would have scoffed at,

and i listen to live videos of taylor swift’s concerts,

my favorite singer, even though

you hated her.

i laugh a little harder, walk a little crooked,

write poems late at night but never in the middle

of the morning,

and i dream, you know,

because now that the sky has cleared

i feel like i can.

nearly four years older than i was back then

and i can see it now,

the haze that covered us, that made me believe

you were supposed to be the everything i thought

you were.

i used to wish the worst for you,

and i lied when i said i didn’t.

maybe then i thought i meant it.

but for a long time, i wanted you to miss me,

wanted you to hurt,

wanted you to feel the way i felt,

wanted to read a poem about me on your tumblr

that you never wrote.

and i wished the worst for me too.

thought that leaving you would scar me,

painted me a shade of gray no one could ever love.

that leaving was the crime you said it would be,

that i’m the same as all the ones before,

that i betrayed you in my final act

of my performance of the girl who would never leave.

but now, i wish the best for both of us.

i hope you have a big apartment and you can see

the toronto sunset from your windows.

i hope you have someone to love and who loves you.

i hope you finally took yourself to therapy

and that your wounds are healing from all the cuts

you gave yourself.

i hope you love yourself a little more than you did before.

and i hope if you think of me, it’s more than our last words.

i hope someday i stop writing poems about you.

i hope i stop fearing that all the ghosts

in my closet will come out

in the shape of someone new.

i hope i stop thinking i’m unloveable, thinking

everyone will fizzle out of love with me

the way you did.

i hope someday your birthday passes

and i don’t think of you.

and i hope someday thinking of you

doesn’t feel like losing

a sober chip.

nearly four years older than i was back then

and the horizon seems closer.

i can’t make out your face clearly in my memory,

but i know it used to make me smile

before it made me sad.

nearly four years older than i was back then

and i wouldn’t change a thing, you know.

at one point i would have thought that heartless,

but if it’s heartless to protect your own,

then so be it. call me heartless.

i know i did it to keep mine beating.

nearly four years older than i was back then

and ‘i think i’m finally clean.’

[apipefullofdreams]

a daughter & her mother

I texted you today, about the weather,

about the groceries I was going to get,

about the way I’d run out of laundry money,

I sent you a picture of the sunset because

every time the sky lights up, you go out

on our front porch and take a photo of it too.

And I don’t know what I’m supposed to do

if I don’t have anyone to send those photos to anymore,

no one to call when I’m mad at a stupid boy,

no one to text when I can’t figure out the right

settings on the washing machine or how long

to bake a cake in the oven.

I don’t know what I’m supposed to do if there’s no

arms for me to run into when I get home

for the first time after an eight hour drive.

I don’t know how I’m supposed to go on

without your lap to crawl into at night

when I’m tired and sad and that episode of Friends

reminded me of losing my first love.

I don’t know what I’m supposed to do if I lose you,

if the sun keeps on setting in a fire of pinks and reds

and you never open your eyes again.

We spent Christmas Eve shaving your head

and I keep finding your hair all over my clothes.

I spent so many hours sitting in hospital waiting rooms,

and when I wasn’t, I was waiting on texts

from you, something to hold onto,

how you’re doing, are you okay, is it still in you?

I don’t know what I’m supposed to do if loving you

isn’t enough to keep you safe.

You’re the one who’s supposed to worry about me,

who’s supposed to feel like the world is collapsing

around her, but it’s not a mother losing her daughter

it’s a daughter losing her mother,

and I fear that saying the word losing makes it true.

I cannot keep losing you.

[apipefullofdreams]

today, I hate you

because you made me believe in love,

spinning in a pretty dress at high school homecoming,

you made me believe I could be the one someday.

today I hate you because you left me crying alone

at lunch a few too many times,

because you told me I walked funny so now I

watch the ground to make sure I don’t do it anymore.

today I hate you because you made me promise

so many things a 15 year-old never should have to.

today I hate you because you took a child’s innocence

and made her compete with you in a game of

who could be sad enough.

today I hate you because I try to move on

and I still google your name to make sure

you’re not living out my 15 year old nightmares

lying on your bathroom floor bleeding out.

today I hate you because I try to find love

and I sit here with the insecurities you gave me,

because I feel like a 15 year old being abandoned

every time my heart gets broken by someone else.

today I hate you because I find you in every person

I want to kiss. they’re not you but

they’re always just like you.

it seems I want the emotionally abusive,

manipulative, piece of shits that can make me believe

I can be enough

until they take it away with a few sharp words.

so fuck you. today I hate you because I

never hated you enough.

[apipefullofdreams]

The World Is So Big

It’s weird that I can hear my next-door neighbors talking

through the door we share in the wall.

They’re talking about getting into a grad program,

and last night on the phone my mom told me

the doctors think she has cancer.

There’s cars driving on the road below, hitting 45

and speeding through yellow lights.

I’ll never know what’s going on in their lives,

and they’ll never know that last night

I tossed and turned until 3 am because

all I could think about was what I’ll do

if she dies.

I can hear the TV on in another apartment,

maybe the election results,

or a sit-com, or a movie for a class.

But all I can think is how last night

as people lined themselves up for polls,

and stuck their ballots in little boxes,

and all these workers sat and counted

them up so we could have democracy

today, my parents were calling me

to tell me everything is not okay.

It’s weird that other people’s lives are continuing

like nothing changed.

The world feels so small sometimes,

but it’s days like these,

when it feels the opposite.

It feels massive, insurmountable.

It feels like everyone out there

has incomprehensibly unique lives

and they’ll never know that I cried

in my roommate’s arms last night

because I’m worried I won’t have a mom

anymore.

And it’s selfish, isn’t it?

Because someone out there, in all those

tiny specks of lights, is losing their mom too,

or just lost theirs last week,

or grew up without one,

and mine’s still alive, seven hours away,

and I could get to her by dawn if I wanted to,

feel the warmth of her hugs,

and be healed by her love,

but I’m crying about it instead,

finishing up a paper that’s due for another class,

studying for an exam that can’t take itself.

And I don’t know how much time she has left.

The world is so big, and right now,

I feel so small.

[inkskinned]

i know people are good because of this: the universe often assigns me side quests. in a circular strangeness; despite my inability to locate my-own-anything, i am almost-always finding someone else's lost things. dogs, coats, phones, cash, laptops. it happens so often it's almost tiring; suddenly being looped into a tiny amount of detective work.

but when i'm with other people who are not used to this: the response is almost invariably delight. yes, maybe they are simply thrilled by the mystery. it's just... they light up so much. i think maybe more... i think they like the opportunity to do something kind.

a few weeks ago, i was at a bar and i found a wallet as soon as we stepped outside. i felt nervous to ask for help, worried i would be holding up the night. i picked it up and said go on without me, i should help this get back to its home.

instead, three people pulled out their phones - to find him on facebook, to help cancel his credit cards. two people went back into the bar to tell the bartender, two others went calling down the street. group texts, facebook posts, instagram stories. people, without even seeing what happened, start offering help to me. fifteen minutes and: someone knows someone who knows the guy. the cheer that went up - just for finding him, just for this small thing. someone gets him on the phone. strangers dance around me, hopping on their feet - are you the girl that found that wallet? good for you, that's a good thing you're doing/same thing happened to me and somebody did what you're doing and i thank god everyday for people like you/i can't believe you found him so fast this is so exciting

i gave it back to him in a parking lot. i watched his shoulders sag with relief. there was cash in it still - he checked the pocket, and then sheepishly held the money out to me. i didn't take it. i held up my hands. "it's no problem, man. i know you'd do the same for me."

i don't know him, to be honest. i don't know if he is the same kind of person i am. but he nodded at me.

and i know people are good. i know people are good, because the way this story ends isn't surprising. we wave goodbye awkwardly. my friend loops their arm around me.

"i can't believe we got it back to him," they said. "i'm going to be riding that high for weeks."

[polartss]

covered in the colours of youuuu <3 <3

quick Nick and Charlie bc heartstopper brainrot @chronicintrovert

[bobbiedebruyn]

HEARTSTOPPER | Comic/TV Show

[apipefullofdreams]

On Loving My Best Friend at 16

It’s quiet, this loving. It sneaks up on you. One day you’re sitting beside each other and she’s playing with your hair absentmindedly and the next your heart is swelling and you can’t describe the warmth that spreads through you when she takes your hand and squeezes, but you know you’re not supposed to scoot closer to her when you’re already inches apart. And it burns to see her with that other girl but you can’t tell if you miss her and all the minutes you used to spend together or if you’re wishing you were the other girl. And does your stomach hurt when she comes out to you because you’re afraid of the implications or because you know that it means the way you heart races around her could become more real?

It’s quick, this loving. It sneaks up on you. One moment you’re laughing at one of her jokes and the next you’re wishing to kiss the smile off her face. You’ve never felt this way about a girl before and you know you shouldn’t, so you bury it but it keeps resurfacing and swallowing you whole. You’re holding hands on the way to class and she’s kissing your forehead when you’re upset and her sweater is just warm enough for those mornings when you forget yours. And you’re six feet under when you realize you’re in love with her. And she’s moving on and on and maybe when she gave you that jar of things she loved about you she meant it that way too. But it’s too far away now to touch. You’re still holding her hand but it’s distant now and you’re fighting every week and she’s pretending everything’s fine but when you call her out for lying, she says lying isn’t the worst a person can do and you stay because she loves you and you promised never to leave. And you’re still in love—how could you ever stop?—but you’re forgetting all the good for the bad. You’re in love with a statue who you can barely call best friend. 

It’s long, this loving. She doesn’t deserve it and neither do you. You’re no longer 16 swinging your hands on the walk to class and she’s not kissing your forehead and reading your poems each night. You had an always like Hazel and Gus and now she flinches from your hugs. You had an always like Hazel and Gus but not like that, because just friends spend all day sending just hearts back and forth and vowing to live together above a bookstore you own together, because just friends hold hands in a dimly lit movie theatre and just friends kiss each other’s cheeks and just friends have the kind of passion people write poems about. And you haven’t talked in over a year now and it’s both of your faults and you know now that you confused manipulation for love but you still wonder if she felt that way too. 

It still burns, this loving, in a forest somewhere you cannot visit. You’re lying each time you say you do not miss it.

Maybe loving your best friend was a mistake but now you know why all the poets weep. You were never meant for her. This loving was a futile thing, but it was strong and real and hopeful.

Like a bird, you set it free.

[apipefullofdreams]

i wish i could tell her

02/14/22

i wish i could show her,

show her that red hearts and fake kisses

don’t have to make her gag,

that she can see the string of lights

and know that even if there’s no one

on the other side just yet, she’s not alone.

when she’s dancing alone in her room,

i wish i could show her how beautiful

it is to see her move.

when she’s singing along to mr perfectly

fine i wish i could tell her she’s fine,

so fine on her own,

that she doesn’t need him if he’s

a continent away playing beer

pong on cheap tables and tossing

around politically incorrect jokes.

that she doesn’t need to shorten

her skirt, pull down her shirt,

strut to class like it’ll make ‘em look.

that if he hasn’t texted her, it doesn’t mean

she’s less lovely,

it just means he’s less smart.

i wish i could show her that

she’s beautiful,

that she can have fun on her own,

strolling the streets of a city she’s never

been,

only two years distant from heartbreak

that felt like it would rip her open.

i wish i could show her her smile,

a smile only she put there.

i wish i could scream it,

just so she’d hear it,

that she’ll be fine, she’s okay,

she doesn’t cry herself to sleep

at night these days.

she’s alone but not lonely,

she’s funny but not a joke,

she’s pretty but not pretty lame,

and she’s perfect,

just the way she is.

i wish i could show her

all the ways i love her

even though she hasn’t changed.

i wish she could love her

the way i do.

but we’ll get there.

[apipefullofdreams]

Things You Took With You When You Left

When you left, you took with you

the ice pack I gave you when you

hurt your leg, my humility,

my smile whenever you looked

my way. Now, I am a shell,

a girl with a laugh caught

in her throat because you took

the humor from my lung

cavities.

I am a cave, my desires

carved out and left in a dish

untouched on a table

in your old dorm room.

When you left, you took with you

my handwriting in your

notebook when we scrawled

notes to each other in class,

my courage; you ran over

my ability to speak my feelings

with your car when you

drove out of the driveway

of my heart.

I am half a person now

because I gave so much of me

to you.

I exist in pieces—

pieces of myself I left

in your hands, trusted with

those knobby knucklebones

and the cup of your palm.

Instead of taking care of me,

you let me fall from your hands

like water slipping through your

fingers in the sink to wash

your face.

I’m a cavern of loss

because I gave so much of myself

away: strands of loose hair

that fell on your rug, little

secrets I never told anyone else,

and an A on that paper after

I ripped apart your sentences

and replaced them with mine.

You took me with you when you

left, but I still have the memories,

can fill the hole in my chest

with your voice over the phone

trying not to fall asleep over a paper,

with your laugh, how it took up

so much space, with you sticking

that fireman’s hat on my head

as I stood at your door in the

dawning of a friendship.

I gave that back to you, too,

afraid what it would mean

to take something from you.

I should’ve taken it,

so I could have something

of yours to sit on my desk

while I write this poem,

missing the curve of you

in the seat next to me.

But I can breathe a little

knowing I gave you things

you cannot throw away,

knowing I gave you memories

to replay when you think

you forget what it was like

to know me better than

few ever had. You can forget

me for a few days, but

I will exist in the crevices

of your brain and that is

a small comfort,

the knowing that maybe

you are also haunted

by the ghost of me.

[90377]

Foggy Morning by Tina Blackwell

[apipefullofdreams]

dot dot dot

you used to send me dot dot dots

as punctuation to a conversation

you didn’t have the energy to deal with.

i’d imagine you sitting there on the

other side of the screen,

eyes darting from long overdue homework

to the flashing time on an analog clock—

half past midnight and you were still up.

so i’d force myself sympathy for

dragging you through another tirade

of mine but then i’d crawl under covers

imagining your arm around me,

your lips punctuating “good night”

on my hips.

sympathy would slip through my fingers,

like water from a glass,

and i’d remember what it felt like to want

to love you less.

[spacezeros]

since it’s Aled’s birthday i thought i’d doodle the radio trio!! thanks everyone still sharing their love for Radio Silence!! 🌃📻

https://www.aliceoseman.com/radio-silence

[inkskinned]

tbh for a long time i really resented the advice "pick a partner that you would want to raise kids with" because i don't want kids and i hated that all relationships had to come from this place of procreation-first. what about toxic friendships, after all.

it took me a really long time to realize it's a bastardization of good advice.

many of us are recovering from being raised by parents/caregivers that were in toxic relationships or were toxic themselves. we learned behaviors, thoughts, and patterns from these people, and we spend our adult lives untangling and dismantling the harm done to us.

the advice should be - is this the person you'd want a child to emulate? is this a person you'd want a child even around? is this a person you can trust alone with a kid - any kid, mind you - and know that the child is safe, looked after, loved? is the relationship you're in one you'd want children to see and repeat in their adult lives? or is the relationship one you hope they won't follow, after all?

to be honest, i knew when i was in a bad relationship. i'd tell people - i know, i know, i should break up with him. i know, i know. she's not actually a good friend. but the reality was that it's incredibly difficult to escape the-devil-you-know. it was easy enough to train myself to be okay with it; i have very little regard for the-self and the process of cutting people out was simply too threatening for my mental state.

but i wouldn't put a younger version of myself through the same thing. i'd picture her in the same situation. i would tell her, broody as she is - leave, you're happier outside of it, never let anyone talk to you like that, you're worth more than this. i'd tell her when you let him cross your boundaries, the fault is his, but you need to understand you're rewarding bad behavior if you don't do something about it. i would wish, fervently, i could restart the relationship and do it all differently, be-young-again.

and then i realized: i am the younger version of myself. a future version of myself is begging me to leave. to take my happiness seriously. i am a kid to fifty-year-old-me. and i need to take my own advice. it's okay if that sets me up to grieve.

pick a partner that you would trust a younger version of yourself with. pick friends you'd want your younger self to grow up alongside. pick love that makes you feel like you want everyone to experience in their life and feel with others, something magical and shareable and full of mist. pick a love that feels like you can grow in it. pick a love like: i will be proud of this.

[apipefullofdreams]

last kiss by taylor swift (i want to love again)

i listen to last kiss in the shower

and i think about how i wish

i could be in love enough

for it to hurt that bad.

sitting on the floor in someone

else’s shirt sounds nice

when i’ve never worn someone

else’s shirt that hasn’t been

someone else’s hand-me-down

clothes. i listen to last kiss

in the shower and i want

him to kiss me in the middle

of saying something and i want

a love that feels so infinite

my heart splits in two when it ends

and i want to watch someone leave

the way i used to watch him sleep

because watching someone leave

means they’ve been there.

i listen to last kiss in the shower

and at least i can say i’ve had a first

kiss and technically a last kiss

but the kisses in between weren’t

enough to make it hurt enough

to write a five minute long song,

to ask his friends how he’s doing,

to sit on the floor wearing clothes

of his he never gave me.

i want a love that feels more than

inconsequential, a love that breaks me,

that paints my blood on the walls

and breaks the glass around my heart,

that makes me feel like i’ll never love again.

and i want to love again

again

and again.