embraces (melt into me)
joseph lorusso, nicoletta tomas, malcolm liepke, joseph lorusso, ron hicks, peter wever, joseph lorusso, colley whisson
will byers stan first human second

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oozey mess
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Andulka
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trying on a metaphor

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@extensiontosuffering
embraces (melt into me)
joseph lorusso, nicoletta tomas, malcolm liepke, joseph lorusso, ron hicks, peter wever, joseph lorusso, colley whisson
—longing for love
what i could never confess without some bravado by emily palermo // nickie zimov // homosexuality by frank o’hara // normal people (2020) // the unabridged journal by sylvia plath // holly warburton
Often through my pessimistic lense, I see the world as cold and devoid of kindness.
A place where love cannot thrive.
But then,
When I hold him
And I press my cold face against the warmth of his
And for a second there is a calm in my milieu.
An absence of chaos.
And I think to myself:
This is a perfect thing;
A perfect and innocent thing.
And that maybe I too am capable of loving and that my heart isn't cold.
And that I might
No.
I will love you forever.
Often through my pessimistic lense, I see the world as cold and devoid of kindness.
A place where love cannot thrive.
But then,
When I hold him
And I press my cold face against the warmth of his
And for a second there is a calm in my milieu.
An absence of chaos.
And I think to myself:
This is a perfect thing;
A perfect and innocent thing.
And that maybe I too am capable of loving and that my heart isn't cold.
And that I might
No.
I will love you forever.
our timelines weren’t in step. if time can really be turned back, give me one last chance.
— YOUR NAME. (2016)
I write letters in your name
I write letters in hope that someday you'll come back and you'll know how sorry I am and how much I've missed you
I write letters even though I shouldnt.
There are some things you just can't come back from.
I still love you; of course I do.
But we can't go back.
Fuck israhell from the river to the sea
Imaginary love stories part 1
Underneath the old chestnut tree,
There’s no place I’d rather be.
The wet grass beneath our bare feet,
The sun is setting, and you feed me strawberries.
Fresh from mama’s garden
You grin, taking a seat.
An odd feeling of nostalgia washes over me;
The irrational fear of everything being too good for it to be genuinely real.
But you hold your hand out
and sit me down next to you.
Brush the hair out of my face;
Laugh about what our parents would say if they found out we were out together this late.
The sun has set now, but I am not afraid.
When it’s time to go, we’ll walk back,
Together,
Down the path we came.
Dil Beparwah is playing on the radio and we are playing cards.
Mama says chaman gheela hai, abhi bahir naa jao.
Lekin it’s february and the winter sun prickling my skin coupled with the feeling of wet grass in between my bare toes is something I have longed for since we moved to this neighbourhood over an year ago.
My friend says she’s worried about how she feels like she’ll never move forward in life.
Another says she’s sure she’ll get where she wants to be but might never find happiness.
One fakes a laugh and jokes about how uncertain her life has become;
And one doesn’t say anything but we all know she feels heavy under the burden of what everyone expects her to be and achieve.
I worry too. About all of that.
And paradoxically the more we try to outrun our fears and worries
the greater and more frightening they seem to get.
So we cry. And we laugh. And we joke about how Faiz said that,
dil naa-umeed to nahīñ naakām hi to hai lambi hai ġham ki shaam magar shaam hi to hai
But the man never bothered mentioning that
it’d be one of those shaam’s that feel like a lifetime.
Someone once told me that to love is to be weak;
And I believed him so I shut everyone out because I thought all I needed was myself.
But then I realized that,
Kabhi kabhi mujhe shaam mein dhar lag jaata hai;
And that I need my friends.
And sometimes they need me too.
So while we all sit on a twenty-years-old wet chithaayi in my front yard,
playing cards while sipping rooh-af-za made with the freshly squeezed lemons we picked from the tree at the park,
And laugh about how none really know how solitaire works;
We feel okay.
And we learn that sometimes feeling just okay is more than okay.
-Y
OKAY SWIFTIES REBLOG THIS AND PUT IN THE TAGS WHICH FEARLESS (2021) SONG YOURE MOST EXCITED TO HEAR RE-RECORDED
RIGHT ANSWERS ONLY
Please a re recording of white horse will make my life complete
“The centre of every poem is this: I have loved you. I have had to deal with that.”
— Salma Deera, Letters from Medea (via roadmotel)
“I don’t remember exactly at what point, or why, I fell ‘in like’ with him. (Pardon me but ‘love’ is much too strong of a word). Maybe it was the way his lips would curl into a shy smile when he’d look at me. Or how after doing something embarrassing while on the field he’d slowly look around to check if I had noticed or not; and how afterwards he’d awkwardly stumble around for a few minutes if I had. Whatever the reason was, I liked him. I liked him a lot. Sometimes, maybe a little too much. And too much of anything can be bad.”
— Excerpt from the autobiography I’ll never write
maybe one day we’ll meet again and explain to each other what really happened. maybe one day we’ll finally understand. until then, I hope you live your best life.
All my life I have been trying to conquer my mind
Ironically along the way,
My mind conquered me.
Mary Shelley, from a letter to Percy Bysshe Shelley (1814) / Joanna Newsom - “Only Skin” (2006)