#dearskye.

{index} fiction #writing journal #progressive degression insta @ chasingfivetwo

[dearskye]

everywhere is hell

[dearskye]

as a child, when you needs were met, your creativity could flourish 

as an adult, without sleep, you forget what it was like to be a child

[dearskye]

If I came up to you pouring out the future, an emulsified truth of love and promise, I think I would scare you. Even if I knew the absolute concentration of how great we would ultimately feel, I would have to wait, soaking in prolonged fear and impatience until I no longer feel and you have arrived too late. When we split, chipped ice, the pain won’t be bad as it could’ve been. I know we don’t all jump into ice lakes so quickly, but I do it because in that way, the numbing comes sooner. Or faster.

[dearskye]

can't can't can't until there's certainty

[wnq-writers]

Hurricanes aren’t meant to be loved, they are misunderstood, they have too much anger, too much sadness, too much emotion, they explode, I explode too often, I am a problem that cannot be fixed, but you, crashed into my life, dancing with hurricanes.

blackrcses, the hurricane (via wordsnquotes)

[dearskye]

/tl/ you take your friends on trips /dr]

my trip:" last sat through a swirl of colours and an almost literal rebirthing via sufjan stevens [whose mantra of "we're all gonna die" has never rung more true than while you're plugged into the earth], i had so many words running through my head like a puzzle passbook scramble where answers rested in patterns, which if you deciphered, you'd realized that in every ebb and flow there's always a time you consciously or subconsciously know that what's around you is going to ask for a sacrifice & you'll have already decided whether or not you're willing to be in the position of being asked or offering. it's like having a raptor run around in your head. and you wonder if you should give it chase, around and around like some endless thought loop that trips up on keywords just to remind you after the world calms down and the trail is faint, you'll have what you need, which is something you've always had, to do the right thing for you and the choice because even the choice can have its own version of right and it may not include you, not in their version of the world - although how you meet and end is still a case of coming ":full circle.

so what i'm saying is, if you ever see this small-clawed raptor, follow her like Alice runs for the white rabbit.

you'll go where the walls are made of words and stumble into a nest of good tunes, vibes, and unforgettable memories. it's not just about that rare sighting - it, as cliché as it may seem, is about the journey that repeats itself in different ways and through different people.

sometimes the leads will seeeem  bum, but most times it's about doing something as simple as opening your perspective to revisit the environment  --- like leaning slightly further back where the poppies lie or peeking through panels to see where her trail runs (she can be SO sneaky but NEVER misleading) ---just know even if you get lost, one thing is always true: 

(the) raptor(s) won't ever lead you a[stray***

[shinji--moon-deactivated2017123]

Screw falling in love. My heart itself is already in tangles. A web of nonsense and a drawerful of necklace chains that I will never have the patience to separate. I am sounds mixed with different mediums of light. Six thousand eight hundred dialects of flesh that I don’t have enough time to translate into words. This dictionary of skin is unreadable and Latin is dead because of what we never had the balls to tell each other. I am swearing off of love because everything inside of me is oil and vinegar and I no longer believe that it’s morally correct to fall in love with the intent of both destroying and rebuilding another human being. I am a forest fire and an ocean, and my favorite color is the same as the color that hurts me the most. I don’t want your sentimentality. Quit looking at me intending to melt me. We all know it’s working. We all know what this heart is capable of unfolding. I am not as strong as my words pretend to be. Not as quiet as these caesuras promise. This heart is a patchwork quilt of people that leave different shades of blue inside of me. The drowning. Your skies. The outline of a blue jay on a porcelain plate. For now, I am closing off these bones for someone who will know how to trace me without me ever telling them what I look like naked. I no longer want to seduce the words out of people just to see if I can. The love that I’m looking for falls out of the realm of your lips and my lips and our lips doing a dance that involves bodies and more skin and your hair touching mine, gently, like two winds colliding. Screw falling in love. It’s too much to handle when I’m already having difficulties breathing and keeping track of my heartbeats and making sure that my limbs are doing what they need to be doing. But, men are so beautiful. But this heart is so fragile. I am every vulnerability that the thesaurus has to offer me and in a certain light it’s impossible for me not to pull you towards me with the intent of kissing the very life out of you. What I’m trying to say is that you are not allowed in. What I’m trying to say is that all I want is to open myself up and have you rearrange me, untangle the gold chains of my heart, love me for every shade of blue that I have hidden in the silent spaces between parentheses. I have sworn off of falling in love, but I know that in the morning, outside, in the pale frost of February, all I’ll want is to hold another person’s hand, warm and gloved, in their coat’s pocket.

Shinji Moon, “I Don’t Want To Be Loved. I Just Want To Be Untangled.” (via bleuveins)

[dearskye]

The Strange Lie I Tell on Dates

Momentary lies. In the moment between the first glance and goodbye, we were black truths and white lies.

Read more on Medium.

I’m now posting there! 

[dearskye]

I rather fall into flames than feel this organ ache. That low stunning pain which unfurls, a melting that starts from skin to bone, results only in ash. But like a phoenix, I'll grow another body and with that body I'll start another fire. #dearskye #wordsaboutlove Shot by @dawinsee, edited by me #excerptsfromabookillneverwrite

[dearskye]

new @the1975 is so beautiful I don't want your body / but I hate to think about you with somebody else / our love has gone cold / you're intertwining your soul with somebody else / #the1975 #ilikeitwhenyousleepforyouaresobeautifulyetsounawareofit but also #mycalvins

[ilymag]

March Theme: Speak

With February underway, it’s time to look towards March. The editorial theme for March is: SPEAK.

Here are a few thoughts that come up, for me, when I think of such a strong term as “Speak”: Confessing sins and truths, speaking your truth, (finally) un-tucking your feelings, communication (or the lack there of), expressing dissatisfaction or overt satisfaction, admitting your feelings to yourself and/or others…

What do you think of when you see, hear, feel this word? (And if its who you think of, the who can be anyone: a lover, a partner, a friend, family, or yourself.)

Feel free to send over submissions and pitches that tie to the March theme at [email protected]. All ideas (essays, interviews, photo essays, short films, vignettes, trend reports, deep-dives, short stories, art) are welcome, especially the unconventional. ESPECIALLY.

–Erika Ramirez

[dearskye]

I’m struggling so hard to make it matter so that when the time comes, I can say, “Yes, I remember.”

[dearskye]

know you’ve been hurt by someone else, i can tell by the way you carry yourself

[dearskye]

a vs L

Adoration is what you should fear. Not love. Love is much more basic: “I care about you.” Adoration is intense: “You are my personal high.” I would’ve only ever given you love.

[lustik]

[dearskye]

The thing about life changing moments is that they tend to happen in little worlds. You’ll see, after you find the energy to re-sync, that even the most catastrophic events eventually become a blip on the radar. Tragedy’s premise has always been this: Life goes on. #mine

(at Sutro Baths)

[wnq-writers]

She’s my cup of tea but she carries the scent of coffee, she’s confusing in the most delicate and dangerous of ways.

VàZaki Nada (via wnq-writers)