You and I
Have so much love,
That it
Burns like a fire,
In which we bake a lump of clay
Molded into a figure of you
And a figure of me.

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@iwnnabelieve
You and I
Have so much love,
That it
Burns like a fire,
In which we bake a lump of clay
Molded into a figure of you
And a figure of me.
Love is a fire that burns unseen,
a wound that aches yet isn’t felt,
an always discontent contentment,
a pain that rages without hurting.
Love comes quietly,
finally, drops
about me, on me,
in the old ways.
What did I know
thinking myself
able to go
alone all the way!
In this young mundane world. I have been fascinated by many things. But none captivated me more than you. you disrupted My very core. For a while i was desynchronized from the entire planet. Detached and overwhelmed by the very thought of you. Drifting in the empty space under the force of your cold dark shadow. Amidst the surging waves, i Looked for a light that would lead me to your beloved shores, But i was led astray, stumbling in the dark, so far away from you, Towards the earth again. Back inside the fragile pieces that i think belonged to me before you, For they took unrecognizable forms, And i have nothing of you other than Wasted dreams, and strands of your hair, that i will tie with ribbons.
I have disappeared from the face of the earth. Unknown. My heart aches. No one knows how it feels. The strength i have is waining. Wasted days go by, words are scarce. My lips like dust crumbles. My voice i no longer hear. I have become a mute who wants to scream in agony, and tear the sky apart.
The things i care about are ruins. They’re bound to wither and decay, So i do not nurture them. I watch the cycle of life go by, Astonished every time by the repetition, No matter how different the circumstances were. So I won’t care about you, Just as I didn’t care about god. But I will fear you both, For all the uncertainty you put in me.
Vulnerable and alone. Always alone. Never bothered me much. But now it’s like knives are stabbing my heart. I’m at my ends mean.
you kept hoping to see something beautiful. But we are just reconstructions. Things that break never look as pretty as they were before, they are Lip marks on mirrors, Projected torso shadows, heads burned by the sun, legs that no longer run, arms frantically flailing, praying to a censored image. And a heart eternally burning, for it is after all an organ of fire.
تاه في غياهب ليلة وُئِد فيها القمر في مهده، يبحث عن شعاع، لايقاف هذا المركب المجوف. حال به الحال يطفو بلا توقف، يقطع محيطات شاسعة بلا ميناء وصول، بلا وطن. أرصفة الموانئ محاطة بالضباب، تضجّ بأصوات الطيور. خالية مِن مَن ينتظره على حافة ذلك الرصيف، بكل الشغف الذي يمتاز به البشر حين يتملكهم الاشتياق. الضوء لا يلامس ملامحه الباهتة إلا في تلك المياه الواقعة في كبد ذلك العدم. حيث لا ينتمي إلى هنالك أحد.
Your life can be full of pleasure.
Swells, Raf Maes
moonlight (2016)
Herb Ritts
Favorite Film from Every Year
1947- Nightmare Alley
Listen to me, I’m no good. I never pretended to be. But, I love you. I’m a hustler. I’ve always been one. But, I love you. I may be the thief of the world, but, with you I’ve always been on the level.
Minor White, Cypress Grove Trail, Point Lobos, California, 1951
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Foliage covered green roof in Kirkjubøur, a photo from Faroe Islands. More