an anchor.

completely and irrevocably hers.

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[fallingshortagain]

i suppose i write here when i have nothing to say, or when i have everything to say… i’m not entirely sure which is it.

i wonder if something’s in the water, if we’re both on the same page, if we have the same north. i like to think that we do, that sometimes life happens and perhaps we simply don’t talk about it. maybe things are fine & i’m just looking way too hard for stuff that isn’t there — it wouldn’t be the first time.

i wonder if i could change anything and make it better.

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[photografya-deactivated20230917]

[luthienne]

“…why this doubt that I have about everything I do, this void that frightens me, all these lost illusions?”

— Gustave Flaubert, from Intimate Notebook 1840-1841

[fallingshortagain]

i hate seeing you like this, i hate feeling you so far away, i hate not being able to help.

my heart breaks when you’re so down, i hurt when you hurt.

i just want to help you, to make you smile, to take all that pain and discomfort away.

but i’m failing.

[wildkiitten]

[lifeinpoetry]

It’s possible that a love’s sole purpose is to be unrequited, to build a pressure without release until we find an act that allows for it to escape—to seep or burst—from us. There are the common ones: booze, drugs, travel, academia, sex. I’ve tried them all. Certainly, none are enough to make up for the fissure inside—only an attempt to find a new way to breathe, to place yourself in the world of without.

Leanne Dunic, from To Love the Coming End (via lifeinpoetry)

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[ctevek]

Visit Original Link

4am-5am

[lifeinpoetry]

I hold on to everything. Will you please help me let go? Sometimes I feel overwhelmed by sadness and anger stuck in my body. Sometimes I want to be other people. Sometimes I hate parts of myself. Sometimes I feel like I am different people. Maybe I have multiple personality disorder. Nope, I don’t, I just looked it up.

— Sylvie Baumgartel, from Song of Songs: A Poem (via lifeinpoetry)

[mournfulroses]

Virginia Woolf, from a letter to Vita Sackville-West c. October 1928

[lilyjamessource]

Lily James Solves r/BritishProblems

[lifeinpoetry]

I like that sweet little hothouse mouth you have. I like to kiss you with tongue, with gusto,

with socks still on. I love you like a vulture loves the careless deer at the roadside. I want to get

all up in you. I love you like Isis loved Osiris, but her devotion came up a few inches short.

I’ll train my breath and learn to read sonar until I retrieve every lost blood vessel of you. I swear

this love is ungodly, not an ounce of suffering in it.

— Traci Brimhall, from “Love Poem without a Drop of Hyperbole,” Come the Slumberless To the Land of Nod

[leptirchahar]

She is the most exquisite butterfly, with a body full of scars and wings made of flowers.

LEPTIR CHAHAR (via leptirchahar)

[wildkiitten]