Portrait of Calliope

lover, learner, writer

[apprehention-blog]

[museofbeauty]

I miss aquariums, road trips, and being a kid. (at Monterey Bay Aquarium)

[humanfilth]

Details of “Mountain Mists” by Herbert James Draper.

[mollyfairhurst]

[2ndsong]

I’ll never forget the first time we bonded was when you wore that shirt of my favorite band and when you took my phone and put your number in and you laughed every time I made a joke and I’ll never forget your favorite number and how you had a shelf of your favorite books and the tiny drawer where you kept all my poems and letters and how you hated when the closet door was even a little bit opened and how you thought the 2nd song of an album was always the best and I’ll never forget when we watched a movie at your house instead of going to that party and how you always touched my lips and told me how perfect they were and how you bragged about me to your friends and I’ll never forget when we walked to your secret spot that you never showed anyone else and how you brought one letter of mine to read every time you left town for the weekend and when you told me you were falling in love with me and I’ll never forget when we walked to your house in the middle of the night and talked until 4am and how you used to be scared of oblivion and that you thought the point of life was having people like me and the time you begged for my forgiveness when I was mad at you and the time you stayed up for me when I was really upset and every time we fought you always took the blame and I’ll never forget when you told me you couldn’t imagine leaving me because you liked to make sure I was happy and how you asked me to stay with you and when you said you would take a bullet for me and the time you said you thought I deserved better and one day you told me we should split up and I’ll never forget that you said you weren’t coming back and that you didn’t feel obliged to make me happy anymore and when you gave me one last kiss and I’ll never forget how painful it was when you walked away

when people ask where my url is from

this is my favorite piece of writing about you because I poured my emotions out in five minutes

(via 2ndsong)

[leslieseuffert]

[museofbeauty]

Getting lost had its perks (at Venezia, Italia)

[neutralmuds]

[fromeuropewithlove]

[museofbeauty]

Travels

I miss you on plane rides as I watch lightning rip through clouds far, far away from me. Thoughts of you illuminate within me as flashes of light murmur through masses of darkness. As we steadily approached our denouement like a scheduled destination, I raised my white flag on this red-eye journey—Take these seconds of doubt and give me minutes of your truth. I would give all the hours I have left for a moment of you. I learned later that the past, present, and future were not timezones— and probing the globe endlessly will not land me in the yesterdays when you used to love me nor transport me to the tomorrows when I will stop loving you.  Now, I feel like I am suspended in the air when I watch you fall methodically and steadily out of love with me—trapped in a vacuum sealed contraption taking me farther and farther away from the world I once knew. The pilot said we were traveling at 500 miles per hours but I still felt paralyzed by the gravity of your absence—weightless in time and space as I watched oceans pass beneath me, quilts of green pastures and deserts and cities slip through my fingers—ultimately handicapped by the loneliness you have left me with. I remember you on train rides. Getting a one-way ticket from home was what it was like to walk away from you. The demise of our amour spun around me like a bullet train—what I thought would take lengthy years to destroy was brought to its shaky knees within a few minutes. In our final moments, I would have liked to feel the wind course through my hair a little longer, watch the the scenes of earth pass by like faded strips of film on a dusty projector. I would have liked to feel the dying breath of our love—once so alive—evaporate like steam from the tired engine. In the meantime, I think about you when I hear the train pulse rhythmically against its tracks like an irregular heartbeat; Yours is the song of a traveler who moves in and out of my life like a foreigner lost in winding, narrow streets and cobblestone paths. Our love story was a railway track unfinished—built with purpose and innovation and abandoned with the rusting of time. Cities were built around us and the world inevitably grew bigger—we had to go to farther distances at a faster rate. Intimacy became outdated, our simple affections archaic. Centuries from now, they will point to the history books and remember: even the love stories and inventions that revolutionized the world will someday be obsolete. Loving you is like sailing towards the hazy line of the distant horizon. I outstretched my hands as far as I could but I will always be left chasing something that does not exist— a destination that will never be. I have trodden down these waters so long that I cannot remember where the oceans end and sky begins, when I began voyaging in unknown waters to find uncertain shores. Like a sailor hopelessly lost at sea, I have been reduced to an acute insanity by the heartless mirage—by looking into your cold, sea-swept eyes and believing that I could land in your warm arms again. A medley of pinks and orange sprawl across the watercolor sky like a broken mosaic and you have traveled with me every step of the way.

[museofbeauty]

Highway 91 after a storm

[museofbeauty]

Bridge of Sighs--Venice, Italy

[hellanne]

by Nicola Odemann

[sunshine-cafe]

[theosakaloopline-blog]

[museofbeauty]

Venice, Italy in the morning

[museofbeauty]

Muse of Strength When I think about strength, I see her dancing in an empty hallway. I hear her filling the silence with the gentle rhythm of her delicate footsteps, The quiet breath of an artist at work. Her soul is a cathedral--a fortress to those who seek it, A sanctuary in times of war. She will bear the weight of a thousand stones upon her shoulders But will never forget to illuminate her stained glass heart. Peer inside and you will stories painted on the windows --Narratives  that continue to haunt and enchant her, Tales that confirm the outstanding greatness of her life and the greater adventure to come. She is small but She can outstretch her arms to the heavens If she so pleased. But she is a dancer-- Who translates her pain into beauty, Who deliberately allows heartbreak to fracture her feet Instead of destroy who she is. She is a ballerina who will feel The world crumble beneath her but keeps on dancing. She, who never falters in her next step, Who never wavers in her waltz, Who never is overcome with trepidation in her tango. It is she who taught me to be strong. It is the dancer who taught me how to fight Because I watched her fight demons and goblins and ghosts, Nightmares and frustrations and bad days. I have watched her fight the impulse to break down and admit defeat, And give into the harshness of life. I have watched her fight the temptation to dance to anything Other than the beat of your own heart. Strength is the dancer who sways with poise and elegance, Twirls with grace and beauty Even if the world is spinning in the opposite direction. Thank you for teaching me how to fight, Thank you for your strength.