mbm

if found, please return to her bed

[bluebedroombreen]

english majors get lit

[bluebedroombreen]

My friends and I made a list of 99 things to do before August 15th. And although we didn’t make it all the way to the end of our list, we concluded that summer is most awesome when you live in the sky. We shouted the Mamma Mia soundtrack until God, personally, told us to shut up. We turned my driveway into a colorful mural of chalk and watched a sunset from the top of the Nationwide parking garage. We gallery hopped and visited the drive-in theatre and ate way too much mac and cheese. My friends and I entered summer in awe of days without productivity and came back into fall with stories to tell and new friends to introduce.

[bluebedroombreen]

[love-lettersanonymous]

This note was found in New Orleans.

Kiss you all over and over again Til the nite closes in

[bluebedroombreen]

I saw the words on someone else’s blog and wrote them for me to save. mindset.

[bluebedroombreen]

[bluebedroombreen]

[bluebedroombreen]

Do you realize that the two are now zero. I’ll

over share and speak just

enough to keep you from going. I have

a feeling that our story will end before it’s done. To

hold your hand

in mine, intercepting fingers, combining molecules of sweat is what I miss. You deliver

lyrics from my ears through me. Please, don’t worry about them.

[bluebedroombreen]

I’ve spent my whole life looking up at you.

You are

a sleepover and a hug and a

break from the eyerolls. You taught me to be a woman

and a real one, who

has ideas and thoughts and wants, who can

laugh and cry and do

it

without caring or thinking—just because. She is herself.

And I am me. But you

and I are and were

and will be born

to spend it all together. To laugh, to

cry and to build.

[bluebedroombreen]

[bluebedroombreen]

[artforwellness]

[bluebedroombreen]

[opennotebooks]

Still now I send letters into space hoping some mailman somwhere will track you down and recognize you from the descriptions in my poems that he will place the stack of them in your hands and tell you, there is a girl who still writes you, she doesn’t know how not to.

Sarah Kay, Postcards (via opennotebooks)