elsie

[elizabae3]

We stroll the garden whilst laughing puddles of joy. I turn to see a butterfly sipping nectar with injured wings: simple reminder that life prevails against all things. Sunlight’s dance guides our way to promised things while hope reigns in its glory. Love has now granted us new stories

[made-to-be-loved-not-understood]

[elizabae3]

Love is lava waiting to mold:

Your patterned breathing seems to mimic how you’ve come to life. I hold your back to my palms, to remind you: you are never lonely. I honor you with midnight tears, and thoughts of love’s jest. You lay by me with your sleepy smile that always reminds me to be grateful.

How can I show you that I care? Loss seems to capture my face, and turn it to grief. Grief is a glass case: trophy of once loved. So instead, I hold your face and lay in the darkness alongside you.

For though you have betrayed, forgiveness could remold the lot. If only I could get there.

Shall we gather the ash and give it a name? Say that implosion is just love remolding?

My heart hangs in a place thats yet to come. Could we become new on our journey?

[enyafans4communism]

fuck, marry, kill: the wound that won’t heal, the past you can’t undo, the ghost that keeps returning

[twofigs]

i think we start healing by telling the truth

[lispectorisms-deactivated202301]

Vladimir Nabokov, from an interview for “BBC-2 (1969)”, Strong Opinions (1973)

[elizabae3]

Everyone’s concerned with their own perception where hope and honesty can hold no reflection. you say you hear music, and I understand it without the hold of physical affection. Would you let me connect to realms you hold: heart and chest? To time that tells eternal rest without the pain of egos jest?

[elizabae3]

The piece of what remains,

pierces me still.

As it solemnly calls

it’s longing writhe of will.

Yearning to graze in a sort

that still pulls the blood.

Like puddles bluntly taunting the sod;

Hope displaced in the mud.

[elizabae3]

beauty speaks simply. it’s branches spread and sing a new life

[elizabae3]

Hunting Island:

Blazed acquaintance in awe of her stature,

sanded palms and thoughts of the matter

where you came from, how you changed from

untouched rawness , suns of the hour.

Seven feet of salty waves,

Four feet of printed ways,

One foot away, blue heron searching

for gifts of the lagoon days.

Yellowed flower, pinked nose,

butterflies say, “Hello!”

“How are you?”

“Good day!”

Little frogs sing along, crabs scurry to the song,

Curiosity critters safely.

We dance in her ebb and flow,

Honored to know that

We are one.

In return, we celebrate what she’s to offer.

[elizabae3]

cap your measures, hold your tongue

treasure hidden just beyond perception:

can you see the reflection?

can you engulf what you burden?

Resilient choice you’ve made: suffering by the iron,

my dearest cowardly lion.

Will you escape the hold you have chosen?

[elizabae3]

Please do not make me small for honoring it all. Would an unrequited love always be knocking?

[elizabae3]

it’s almost cruel to have a love that refuses to falter to time. how can I forgive myself for the foolishness of my heart? I am much too old to hold hope to a flame, or even to a feeling. Would you please answer a call, just to tell me what is so? Your fingers reach and tap the pool; rippled linger. Am I just imagining it all?

[achillesinhighheels]

[petalsinfall]

[aishiteru-kenshin]

Rain on Lilypads |  LW Lau

[whizpurr]