@daisyokokok - Tumblr Blog

@roach-works // Melissa Broder, "Problem Area" // Mary Oliver, "The Return" // @annavonsyfert // Koyoharu Gotouge, Demon Slayer // Haruki Murakami, Dance Dance Dance // David Levithan, How They Met and Other Stories // Tennessee Williams, Notebooks

hwhwgwhnwnwbwbwg-deactivated202

Andrei Tarkovsky

somebodyssongbird

He loved all seasons, save winter. He lived his life in winter Because he was winter, And he never really loved himself. He buried his heart beneath the snow, Became the barren, dead tree, Accepting a world of numbness.

I loved all seasons, including winter. I lived my life in summer Because I was summer, I was, am, and will be the sun. My heart beat strongly, It was warm, on fire, Embracing a world of passion.

We met and we collided, Creating spring. My sun melted his snow, Uncovered his heart, And after many years He discovered rebirth, renewal.

Our first dance was a tango, Parading on the dew. The smell of fresh grass, Fresh starts and new beginnings. But spring began to end And he awoke from his dream, Begging for winter to come again. Thawing began to sting And he missed home, His many blankets of snow.

I tried to follow my lover. I brought the summer heat along, And he could not find winter. He barked at me, “You cannot play god, You cannot change the seasons.” I explained to him that I did nothing, We changed it, We merged and created spring and fall, The lovely, romantic air.

So he in turn tried his hand, Bringing forth dark clouds. “There will be storms,” He warned me.

First there was rain. It poured down above us And as he ran for shelter I grabbed his hand, Leading him out into the fields And I said, “Let it rain, let it soak us. Let us dance And the rain will cleanse us.”

My lover was afraid. Afraid of what I might see If his skin were washed, His face wet, hiding tears. He created thunder and he warned, “There will be lightning, There will be flooding.” I kissed his cheek and said, “Then I will build us a boat So we can sail to safety.”

But he shook his head, Thinking I did not mean it. I stood in the spring field As he ran off to winter. Still, he looked back at me Not being so far off, And he watched as I stood firm As the water rose above my ankles. “He will surely run,” My lover thought.

The water reached my shoulders. There was nothing I could do, For summer had many rains And fire would only drown. I would surely drown as well, The water rising above my head.

My love, my beautiful love, Saw at last that I was his. His to love or leave, That I would always Be waiting in oceans for him.

His heart felt my summer breeze, Felt my year long devotion, And he, the god of winter, Ended the storms, Ended the rain, And as he stepped upon the water It turned to ice. A vast, frozen lake, He ran across to where I now, Was buried like his heart.

He called to me, “I am winter, You are summer. Bring forth the sun.” And I did. The giant, burning sun Melted the ice around me, Freed us both from fear, And he held my hand As he added more heat to the sun, Evaporating the water, Returning the lake to a field.

When the land had dried He kissed my lips, His frost to my fire, Bringing back the spring, Returning the field to gold. We lay in the shimmering grass. My lover and I, We love all seasons. We built our home in that field And we never again played gods.

somebodyssongbird

I can’t wish you happy birthday Because we are ghosts now Ghosts who do not linger On the same plane of existence

How abruptly we became memories While our lives were still Flourishing and so full How quickly the two of us vanished

I send you messages into the void Into the echo chamber of my heart Bouncing around in the dark I miss you, miss you, miss you

Sometimes I think I can see you Your face unchanged and wild But you are a wild dream That ripples away at my touch

Can you feel me reaching out Now that we live only in my mind? So many years since you disappeared The two of us remain only in me

somebodyssongbird

I miss loving you Where did that feeling go? I keep searching Through my pockets, Checking under the bed, Did it blow out the window?

Or did it simply Get smaller, start to fade? Like snow on a sunny day, Maybe it just started Dissolving away.

somebodyssongbird

I would tilt the earth For snow drops and witch hazel For rare hints of color Bright against a white landscape

I would give up leaves For bare frosted branches I would banish the sun To see night in the afternoon

I would never swim again To skate across a frozen pond I would tear out July and August To have a calendar of Decembers

Give me a window that speaks That howls the names of blizzards I would tilt the earth To see cardinals shine in snow

somebodyssongbird

I search for meaning In places where there are Many conflicting meanings, Where there are too many words And all the words are in Different languages.

Still I try to define Emotions that are multiple Emotions, that are vast And endless, that expand And shrink, and exist In a world outside myself.

I traverse dreams That I create in my mind, Where people relate to me In ways they do not actually Relate to me, where we Are all who we need To be to each other, Where we are vague and I am Lost in the details.

creatingnikki

Already this year I have kissed two boys who meant nothing to me, to whom I meant nothing. I don't even know their birthdays or maybe I asked but my brain never registered that information because I didn't care. There was no time between the meeting and the kissing to do any caring. How did I get here? When did I become this person? When did a kiss become meaningless? But I did not, did I? I was not the one who initiated the kiss. Yes, I kissed back. But let's blame that on the alcohol and the sleep deprivation and the bleak hope of it translating to something meaningful. So, maybe I'm still me. A romantic, a believer, a person who wants kisses to mean something. Not necessarily love, but the beginning of it. A kiss with an intention to love, to know, to adore. A kiss without any such intention? I'm going to withdraw from, not reciprocate. This is certain, if not much else.

hwhwgwhnwnwbwbwg-deactivated202

Virginia Woolf

macrolit

Some people turn sad awfully young. No special reason, it seems, but they seem almost to be born that way. They bruise easier, tire faster, cry quicker, remember longer and, as I say, get sadder younger than anyone else in the world. I know, for I’m one of them.

Ray Bradbury (b. 22 August 1920)

firstfullmoon

Alex Dimitrov, from “Living in Time” [ID in ALT]

folkstellar

“What am I in the eyes of most people — a nonentity, an eccentric, or an unpleasant person — somebody who has no position in society and will never have; in short, the lowest of the low. All right, then — even if that were absolutely true, then I should one day like to show by my work what such an eccentric, such a nobody, has in his heart. That is my ambition, based less on resentment than on love in spite of everything, based more on a feeling of serenity than on passion. Though I am often in the depths of misery, there is still calmness, pure harmony and music inside me. I see paintings or drawings in the poorest cottages, in the dirtiest corners. And my mind is driven towards these things with an irresistible momentum.” ― Vincent van Gogh

creatingnikki

That guy who puts more pieces of your favourite food on your plate as you eat out with all your friends and the one who strokes your hand with his thumb as you hold hands and the one who sees you and really sees is not somebody you are going to find on a dating app. It's not going to happen.

You can find funny boys on there. Pretty boys. Bad boys. Silly boys. But not that kind. So then you have to decide if that's what you want to do with whatever hope and trust you have remaining for love. Do you want to spend it on them? Do you want to continue to meet guys who make you believe a little less and a little less and a little less in the possibility of having something wholesome, and healthy, and lasting with a man?

I know you don't. I know you are just lonely and trying to not go crazy. It's either them or food or the past. The past is dangerous. The food is an indulgence. And the guys? They are manageable. I don't think they can harm me. Not again, anyway. But they do, don't they?

So, what are you to do, then?

What am I do do, then?