callmelost

:D

[callmelost]

bloody longing

I routinely escape to where I can feel you next to me breathing. simple inches on the grass and I must not break the spell of your presence. I need you to bite me to shreds, I need you near me, I need, I need. my jaw will break and my bones will crack and I’ll wilt like a flower and you’re the fresh scissors to fix me. your hand is warm in mine but I need you to crush it.

[callmelost]

pull down my clothes

i need you to want me

trace the line of my spine

and grip my waist with one hand,

the other’s in my hair

show me what it’s like to be touched by you,

to be touched at all

i want your breath on my skin

my lips on your chest

please, stay warm with me

please, stay

please

[stardvle]

I am sick and I can't breathe and talking hurts and sitting up is hell. this is, of course, the perfect time for me to solve all my plot holes

[orivu]

youve died a thousand times before who caaares just climb out of this grave again & again &agaian & agaian & again & again & aga

[depraveddame]

feels like fake news

[ze-slaughtermod]

I'M WORKING ON IT

[h-didanart]

Same :’)

[waywardsou2]

Some idiot: "Why are you reading your own fic, that's shallow and stupid"

All fanfic writers and writers everywhere: "Who the fuck do you think I wrote it for?!"

[nacricissa]

I know some people think Pride is a deadly sin or whatever but in measured doses it’s actually quite good for you

[callmelost]

i sit with my grief at the dining table. she follows me to the couch after a long day and cups my cheeks in her cold hands. she nestles behind me, almost invisible, as a friend is near, and yet like a shy cat, reappears once they’re gone. my constant shadow, my tear-stained cloak. i never made you that cornflower blue vest.

[callmelost]

when asked who i would dine with, out of the choice of everyone, i responded with Greta Gerwig. i was naive, 14, and had just seen ladybird for the first time. my sister was obsessed, in her 16 year old way, and went on to watch Frances Ha and interviews and anything she could get her hands on. i listened in rapt attention as she described every scene, every dialogue, and not once did i lay eyes on the woman herself. my eyes were on my sister. my sister. my real answer.

[callmelost]

I’ll keep on keeping on,

even if I wait forever.

My mother says, divide your hunger,

but it tastes better together.

Like waffles and honey,

like toast and like jam,

I’ll wait again until summer,

when there’s time in my hand.

I’m nursing this private dream,

that rises like a cloud.

Once spoken, the spell is broken,

and I’ll be cut with doubt.

[callmelost]

The painting, Young Girl Reading, was not painted by Jean-Honoré Fragonard. It is not in a museum. It was painted by my grandmother and hangs over her dining room table. The features delicate and her fingers like needles.

I am six years old and she is the most beautiful girl in the world. I watch her while I’m sitting at the white tablecloth, Houses of Parliament at my back. I reach for a pomegranate, on the table and in the still life, and my grandmother cracks it for me, her brushstrokes shaping my world.

[callmelost]

Some of my favorite memories take place on that yellow pleather couch in the room where the walls are insulated with DVDs. My legs rest in your lap or yours in mine — the details of our intimacy escape me now. Soft music from our movies fill the space between us, and later, when you drive me home, I start humming and you respond in kind.

[callmelost]

I find it difficult to speak without crying. I feel my throat close up and my eyes start to blur, so I have to sit in anxious silence until my body can form the words already decided by my tongue. Several years ago now, I heard that you cannot cry while drinking water. I soon learned that this was a lie, and you can, in fact, cry even more. I still did it though, trapped in that limbo of placebo, tears running down my cheeks and water running down my throat.

[callmelost]

I see it coming around the corner like a snake as it curls around my stomach and sucks out my appetite. You led it here, I tell my mother. And you held out your arms, she replies.

[callmelost]

I’m now her age. I don’t know if I could place my hands on his throat like her or face my young eyes unyielding. I don’t know if she thought she could. I don’t know her name.

I know his name. I know his mother. I knew his fiancé and his friends and his whole entire life which she snatched away. Took away. Reclaimed for her own mangled, terrified, broken heap. He’s not quite free and we’re not quite sane after his gentleness. I don’t know how to think of him without anger. I don’t know how to speak of her without regret.

[callmelost]

It’s all for her in the end

I see it connect to my soul and wonder about the strings that would tangle her heart to mine

How easily she would go through each one with her scissors

My soul drifts like a ghost caught in the wind, and my heart beats to beckon her closer, but she will never come

[callmelost]

The magic returns

The screech of metal barely blocked by your sister’s headphones as the melody notes of that piece you used to play fight to be heard. You can’t seem to remember where you placed your fingers. The train is too long and your battery is too low, so the hills and houses rush by in their attempts for your attention, “goodbye, goodbye, goodbye.”

[callmelost]

There will be lemonade, freshly squeezed, always in the fridge, and the dogs will be napping in the sun. The birds will make their nests on the front porch and I’ll bake berry pies with the fruit from the garden. I’ll decorate it with all the art I’ve saved and I’ll invite people over for dinner and we’ll talk about silly things.

I’ll hold it

and I’ll treasure it,

and when you come to visit, you’ll see that I’m quite happy after all.