let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
macklin celebrini has autism
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The Stonewall Inn
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
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RMH
Kiana Khansmith
almost home
Product Placement
blake kathryn
Discoholic 🪩
Jar Jar Binks Fan Club
🪼
sheepfilms
occasionally subtle
★
bliss lane
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
seen from Kenya
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seen from India
seen from Canada
seen from China
seen from Thailand
seen from United States
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@melinalowe
I keep reaching for something I can barely remember. Something other than this insistent longing for waves filling my lungs; this vague recollection of days not spent dreaming of being dragged under. It is hard to feel alive when my hands are shaking.
drown - down- full - fast, melina l.
The world is preparing for rain And the air charges itself up And the clouds group together. The world is preparing for rain But the air isn’t humid quite yet But the clouds haven’t started crying. The world is preparing for rain And I wish I was more patient And I wish I didn’t wish for it to fall.
patience, melina l.
There’s nothing about this that hasn’t already been said. Somehow that doesn’t matter. My bones are aching, half from their attempts at disintegration and half from you returning: my bones are aching and I almost feel alive again.
fleeting, melina l.
And suddenly it feels as if there might be something left in me after having picked the poison out.
emptiness // potential, melina l.
I miss watching your hair dry, having nowhere I’d rather be than in your arms or on your sunlit balcony or in your sunkissed bed.
light nostalgia, melina l.
It smells so good here on this crooked backstreet: of flowers and humidity and of the moss that lines the cracks in the ground. I slow down, instinctively, immersed in these streets’ innate fresh decadence.
fresh decadence, melina l.
knowing that I have the potential to forget all of this: my aches and my loneliness, makes it a little easier to wait all of this out. knowing that I have the potential to forget the ball of ice encapsulated in my chest makes it a little easier to wait for summer to melt me.
dimenticare, m.l.
these streets aren’t mine yet but i’m starting to recognize their smiles and their ups-and-downs and their ends and edges. this city isn’t mine yet but i’m starting to feel warm when my feet hit cobble-stone and my ankles don’t bend and i don’t falter.
these streets aren’t mine yet, melina l.
i know i was the one who left but by now i regret it. i know i was the one who ran a couple of countries south: i was looking for some warmth to rekindle the simmer in my bones. i wanted a fire, a passion, a spark: but here all i see is stone. stone walls and stone floors are reflecting back the cold in me. stone walls and stone floors are making me beg for you. stone walls and stone floors are leaving open the place in me that should be full of you.
stone, melina l.
They say that it fluctuates: I can’t always be joyful, I can’t always be sad. Everything comes in waves and I will find my way back. But I’ve been numb for months and this medication isn’t working. I keep sleeping for days and still wake up as exhausted: so am I ill or just a melancholy mess? I can’t tell if the waves of fear is in my core or just in my head. I can’t tell if the overwhelming worry can be good and not just incapacitating. No, I can’t tell.
i can’t tell, melina l.
After half a bottle of white wine I could so easily get stuck on you. The way your gaze is so heavy and still so vitalizing when you watch me. The memories of how your lips felt on mine, your hands on me, your warmth so close. I could so easily get stuck on you, but the design of things makes it impossible to give in to it: impossible to give in to you.
after half a bottle of white wine, melina l.
your movements – i remain rigid – your gaze – my skin simmers – you’re soft and kind and i want nothing else than to deserve it all: i’m all shame and edges but every piece of me is soon worthy of you.
purification, melina l.
Is this how to be soft? I’ve tried to be harsh for years: solid bones, sharp edges, cutting eyes. But the way you let yourself be everything I haven’t dared to show makes me feel like I can.
the closest thing to adoration, melina l.
Dear myself: self-destruction isn’t nearly as endearing in the long-run as you think it is. But still, what’s the point of skin if you can’t see bones underneath? what’s the point of skin if there’s nothing to hide below it? what’s the point of skin if it’s not used to shield yourself with? Dear myself: you don’t have to solvable to be interesting. you’re losing out if you hide away the parts of you that make you handmade, not pulled from an assembly line.
handmade, melina l.
my hands smell like your cigarettes and i couldn’t possibly want you more. stand a little closer, hold me a little longer, show that you care for me. my memories smell like his smoke and i don’t want them to stick around. it’s sticky and sickly, and it’s filling up my lungs even when he’s not here. my hands smell like your cigarettes and i feel nicotine when i hear your name. stay for another smoke, ask me if i’m alright: then, please, just keep me around.
smoke / smoke, melina l.
You never spoke of anything important: you said it didn’t really matter. So I stayed up debating calling you to ask you if I was something important or something worthy of being on your mind. I don’t know how you got under my skin, because I have trouble fitting there myself. But now when I get distracted it’s your fingers that I imagine: it might be a sign that I’m missing you.
this used to be a love song, melina l.
Come on now, justify being loud. You laugh And inside I'm melting with relief. Come on, justify being shut off. You look away And inside I'm melting with relief. Justify my act – justify my fear. You look at me And my hands can’t stop quivering. You know my game Of faking brashness or solitude, so Come on, justify my extremes. You want to know what lies behind This ever-changing facade, What I carry behind my face. You won’t stop looking And I can't breathe through it, but see: I’m only faking that I’m faking it. So come on now, justify my act. Look at me, at the lies that lie behind and justify my fear of being seen.
justifications / confessions, melina l.