Love is the warmest colour

All colours and cares glaze to gray, shriveled and stricken to dots Left hand grasps what the body grasps not, le photographe est mort

[573p5]

[inkpaperheart]

Wherever you are,

that’s where I don’t want to be

[aintthatakick]

Pier Angeli and Paul Newman go to the movies in Somebody Up There Likes Me (1956).

[inkpaperheart]

Trying to hold on to a feeling as slippery as a dream, and even there, you disappoint me.

[inkpaperheart]

I sit in a cloud of smoke feeling violently ill. I go to kiss you and cough out the taste of another woman and you say “I’m home” like you deserve a trophy.

“Asshole”, I think, but instead I say, “You forgot to buy milk again. The kids want to have pancakes tomorrow.” I will not think about why you forgot, where this is going, if the last 20 years of our marriage have been for nothing. I will not unravel.

[inkpaperheart]

Leap of faith

I guess sometimes you just have to hope for the fucking best

[inkpaperheart]

Disgust

Do you know? Surely you must. Do you have one - or maybe both - of your eyes closed? What do you tell yourself when he doesn’t reply you for hours? When there are holes in his stories? Surely there have been times when you’ve thought to yourself, “That doesn’t sound right.” Do you kiss him and forget? Do you pretend that it doesn’t matter, as long as he comes home?

—

I was watching Gone Girl again. When I first watched it, I just thought Rosamund Pike as Amy Dunne was a perfect, flawless psychopath, but nobody would act that way. Now I think, that’s exactly how women should act. You don’t let him get away with that shit. No fucking way.

[twilightly-blog]

He actually expected me to love him unconditionally. Then he dragged me, penniless, to the navel of this great country and found himself a newer, younger, bouncier cool girl. You think I’d let him destroy me and end up happier than ever? No fucking way.

[inkpaperheart]

I have had the same music on repeat these few days and they all revolve around the same topic. Sometimes I wonder if this is all the human existence is reduced to.

I am finally entering the last week of work. Feels surreal, and bittersweet.

[inkpaperheart]

R u mine

I guess what I'm trying to say is I need the deep end

Keep imagining meeting, wished away entire lifetimes

Unfair we're not somewhere misbehaving for days

Great escape, lost track of time and space

She's a silver lining climbing on my desire

And I go crazy cause here isn't where I wanna be

And satisfaction feels like a distant memory

And I can't help myself

All I wanna hear her say is are you mine?

Are you mine?

Are you mine?

Are you mine?

And the thrill of the chase moves in mysterious ways

So in case I'm mistaken

I just wanna hear you say you got me baby

Are you mine?

[nevver]

[euphraxia]

Nocturne in Black and Gold: The Falling Rocket, James Whistler

[inkpaperheart]

Please could you

Just leave me the fuck alone

[inkpaperheart]

At the risk of overstating your importance, I should refrain from writing about you. I’m not sure what possessed me to ask about you. Was that how this started? 

Shoulder to shoulder, arm to arm, thigh to thigh. If you had goosebumps, I would feel them.

I probably shouldn’t have 

left the imprint of my lips on your neck.

[inkpaperheart]

In the purple blue-blackness of twilight

Our eyes are closed, your forehead against mine,

My nose is filled with the scent of you.

Where your hand meets my waist, the crackle of electricity 

Explosive traces trailing the length of my body

Marked out by your fingertips.

If our lips touch, disaster.

If our lips touch, everything we’ve built in the last ten years, 

Shatters into a thousand pieces beyond repair.

[inkpaperheart]

It was now and we were both in the same place

Didn’t know how to say the words

With my heart ticking like a bomb in a birdcage

I left before someone got hurt

[inkpaperheart]

Big magic

Reading this book is really reminding me of how much I used to love to write for the sake of writing, and how I used to read great books and join livejournal communities with writers who penned amazing prose and kept inspiring me to string some words together and watch them light up the sky.

In my teenage years I remember reading a lot more but it slowly dissolved into merely scrolling through pictures, whether here or Instagram, or reading bite-sized pieces of information on Twitter and Facebook. What a pity that I’ve stopped writing so frequently, and it’s really something I should start up again...

As I try to revive #storiesfromanunwrittennovel on this tumblr I hope this world can be patient with me as I try to put these stories that play out in my head.

[woodmagnet]