Think of the tender things that we were working on.

[gratefulirritation]

Love always goes.

And goes

and goes

and goes

and goes

and goes.

[owlmylove]

maybe if you take a hot shower. cook something. eat a little soup. feel a little sunshine. make something with your hands—it doesn’t have to be big. maybe if you stretch your body and draw a silly little picture and get some rest, the world will feel like something your hands can still hold

[gratefulirritation]

Maybe. I hope.

[yvesolade]

“Sometimes I really believe it, that I am going to save my life a little.”

— Mary Oliver, from section 4 of “The Return,” What Do We Know: Poems and Prose Poems (Da Capo Press, 2002)

[mabeltanaka]

[gratefulirritation]

Man, tumblr used to be the place to fucking be, huh? I miss 2012 tumblr.

[mashamorevna]

“I am afraid to touch / anyone who might stay / long enough to make leaving / an echo”

— A Fortune for Your Disaster, “FOR THE DOGS WHO BARKED AT ME ON THE SIDEWALKS IN CONNECTICUT” by Hanif Abdurraqib (via decreation)

[gratefulirritation]

Long enough to make leaving an echo.

[gratefulirritation]

And just like that I’m crushing HARD on another unavailable coworker because he’s smart and likes mad men and has great hair and it’s always SOMETHING. I had a list like this for Ryan, too. It’s always something.

I had a dream about him last night and I woke up this morning certain that he’s going to propose to his girlfriend over valentine’s day weekend and now I’ve hurt my own goddamn feelings and created a bunch of anxiety around things that have literally n o t h i n g to do with me.

[gratefulirritation]

[midnightmurdershow]

Planet Earth II (2016) Episode 05 “Grasslands” Directed by Chadden Hunter

[gratefulirritation]

For lunch I had a tiny deep dish pizza cut into four uneven quadrants.

The dog watched me, unblinking, while I ate.

She looked so serious. Her head tracked my hand as it went from plate to mouth and back again.

And when I’d swallowed the last of it and licked my fingers clean,

she sighed, put her head down, and went right to sleep.

If only we could all observe the things we want so intently with such plain, open longing.

And forget them so easily when they’re gone.

[joeinct]

Photo by Robert Frank, 1948

[gratefulirritation]

As I write this, the traffic is awful, and you are aglow under neon in new floral sneakers. You’re scanning the Fremont Street crowd for my face. When I arrive, you exhale.

Across town, we’re at Bugsy’s Bar. I had a miserable afternoon, but you're here now, and you know nothing about it. You look at me like you want to hold me with both hands. Like I'm something delicate that might fly away.

In the parking garage of Treasure Island, you squeeze my fingers because they’re cold, and no one could fault you for that. I touch the ends of hair that now reach the back of your neck. You're growing it long. Another version of you I am grateful to meet.

By the entrance to The Mirage, I am on display, wearing thigh high boots and leaning into your passenger side window. Maybe a stranger thinks we're negotiating what a night with me would cost you. We are.

As I write this, I am in Colorado, you are in North Carolina, and we are in Nevada. Vignettes of our past and would-be selves populate that ridiculous city. That city of mirrors. That city for hiding, and sometimes for seeking.

When you’re ready, darling, let’s find ourselves again.

When you’re ready, darling, we’re waiting for us.

[gratefulirritation]

https://www.vulture.com/2020/08/i-may-destroy-you-ending-explained-michaela-coel.html

[gratefulirritation]

Happy birthday, Ryan.

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

“It is no use trying to sum people up. One must follow hints, not exactly what is said, nor yet entirely what is done.”

— Virginia Woolf, from The Complete Works; “Jacob’s Room,” wr. c. 1922

[mobble]

[gratefulirritation]

you by the bar in a grey sport coat, you with your back to me. you with flowers on your shoes, you with a fluorescent halo. me reflecting light, you admiring the glow.

you under turquoise neon, you standing still in a crowd, you, with a dove and an ox, waiting for me to appear.

you in the driver’s seat, me expected to be somewhere. me sliding one finger into the crease at your hip. you gently removing my hand, you gently removing it again.

me in thigh high boots, me leaning into your car window, me on display.

you as a revelation, you as pure fantasy, you, surrounded in gold.

me as a crossroads, me with a yoke,

me in the sun, me casting a shadow.