Pleure: les larmes sont les pétales du cœur. @birsntrees - Tumblr Blog

I had a dream about you last night but it will never be fulfilled. (I will make sure of it.)

We were two unwilling players, stranded, repelled.

We kept repelling over and over and over and over again.

I regained hope and ached but now I will be flooded. (Feelings I used to cherish)

We will never meet again, not like this.

We should continue to move separately, while I still stay grounded.

#writing

Your Initials (Half a year later)

You know, I thought It’d be over.

This awkward

Nudging Here

or there.

I guess you could call what we had progress.

Its barely worth a

Newts Heart.

It’s over.

Thats all there is to say.

I’m still in the same position, writing about

Naive Hopes.

Because, frankly,

I don’t think I’ll ever stop loving you.

I love you, NH.

Goodbye

#writing

chariotofselene

baby though I’ve closed my eyes i know who you pretend i am

unclejezzy

washing machine heart - mitski

orvillepeckdaily

orvillepeck: ‘No Glory In The West’ - out this Friday

AP 2D Art and Design

I created an entire series of artwork to figure out the question I’ve been seeking the answer to. 10 paintings. 10 thoughts. 10s of canvases and scrap where

all my love

has been smeared. This was supposed to be a masterpiece. But Instead all I found out was the fact of my role with

this feeling

Was to forever be an observer. Was to forever be a listener. I was made to

love wholeheartedly

but to never

be loved.

#writing

yerisgirl-deactivated20201106

tenderness

birjani

There’s mad intimacy in listening to someone else’s playlist

kramer

godspeedmp3-deactivated20200914

jenny slate / two, sleeping at last / an oresteia, euripidies (trans. anne carson) / the chaos of stars, kiersten white

soracities

hello dear, i'm not sure if i saw it on your page but i'm looking for a quote that goes something like 'to love someone is to want to eat them' (not in a cannibalistic way of course) do you by any chance know it? and i wanted to thank you for putting so much effort into your page

might be Helene Cixous; ‘The Love of the Wolf’

“For us, eating and being eaten belong to the terrible secret of love. We love only the person we can eat. The person we hate we ‘can’t swallow.’ That one makes us vomit. Even our friends are inedible. If we were asked to dig into our friend’s flesh we would be disgusted. The person we love we dream only of eating. That is, we slide down that razor’s edge of ambivalence. The story of torment itself is a very beautiful one. Because loving is wanting and being able to eat up and yet to stop at the boundary. And there, at the tiniest beat between springing and stopping, in rushes fear. The spring is already in mid-air. The heart stops. The heart takes off again. Everything in love is oriented towards this absorption. At the same time real love is a don’t-touch, yet still an almost-touching. Tact itself: a phantom touching. Eat me up, my love, or else I’m going to eat you up. Fear of eating, fear of the edible, fear on the part of the one of them who feels loved, desired, who wants to be loved, desired, who desires to be desired, who knows there is no greater proof of love than the other’s appetite, who is dying to be eaten up, who says or doesn’t say, but who signifies: I beg you, eat me up. Want me down to the marrow. And yet manage it so as to keep me alive. But I often turn about or compromise, because I know that you won’t eat me up, in the end, and I urge you: bite me. Sign my death with your teeth.”

rickycohete

Eli by Ricky Cohete

queerpeachy

This boy really has no clue what he does to me

scribbleddownfeelings

His Body, His Mind, His Soul.

I know a man. A young man, boyish in some of his features, but strong hearted and noble. This noble man had hair of darkened oak. His eyes were a puddle found in the forest, reflecting the green and brown canopy above. His cheeks were freckled -brown splattered constellations. His nose was, for lack of better description, decidedly cute. His brows were strong, much like his character. His smile though -not just the sight of it, but the fact that there’s a joyous reason behind his smile - was a precious gift to behold, much like (but to a lesser extent, as nothing could really beat the following) his soul.

His mind was complex, similar to a labyrinth. However, the walls of this labyrinth have been doted with brilliant vibrant frescoes that ,while being slightly hard to interpret, are coated with a beautiful passion of a greater Spirit at work. The labyrinth may lose people, but the journey to the center is a glorious one, one with many twists and turns and stories to tell.

He was a loving, extraordinarily extravagant man. He could calm his beloved one with silent words. His soul radiated kindness and gentleness. The Creator embedded a part of himself in this man, and it showed through many things this man did. The way he created, the way he laughed, the way lived, the way he viewed, the way he loved. Certainly dear, when I say this man a was a gift to the people, and a gift to me, I mean it.