oh k

young naturalist

[nearlylauren]

We know we are very special. Yet we keep trying to find out in what way: not this way, not that way, then what way?

"Special" by Lydia Davis

[nearlylauren]

99 things to do when you’re bored get drunk alone. tell someone they have nice shoes. let yourself cry in public. wave to anyone who notices. throw away dried out pens. call someone. leave a voicemail. pack up everything you love. pack it well. unpack everything you love. think about how you usually don’t think about breathing. miss someone. don’t. ACCEPT LOSS ALWAYS. say someone’s name when you talk to them. try to remember the names of people you meet and will never see again. don’t be afraid to make eye contact. dance alone, daily. think of all the places around you that you haven’t been to in a while. go see them. if you can make someone eye’s twinkle, that’s special. if you can make your own eyes twinkle, that’s even better.

[nearlylauren]

i have had the same wall decorations for literally like 6 yrs...but the cat is new !

[nearlylauren]

[nearlylauren]

i want so badly for you to feed my fire again, tend to it, want to keep close enough to keep an eye on it, keep extra matches, and keep me. you watched me cracking, popping, escaping, and knew i was likely to go out without you, without reason to burn— but even a bonfire wasn’t enough to stay; maybe it was too hot a day, the last person had left, gone to sleep, or it got out of hand. you threw water on the fire all at once, sending smoke, making it all worse; the fire cried heartbreak, but i wasn’t angry, i was lost without it: self-conscious, vulnerable, grieved; the darkness hissed misgivings, and the ground was too wet to start anything again. i was my happiest fire with you; but that’s okay i guess, i’ll find my fireplace, my home with a chimney, with a place for everything: a hearth for warm backs, a black mesh curtain screen to guard embers, a place to hold pokers, and soot that’ll never be cleaned. i’ll become predictable, i’ll hate it, but i’ll be patient— knowing i’ll be forgotten about one day, i’ll build up, the chimney will catch, everyone will watch, point fingers, hold loved ones, and as i burn what is left, i’ll never understand how we could get along like a house on fire.

[polychelles]

Koh Rong, Kaoh Kong, Cambodia by Rihannon Taylor

[just-wanna-travel]

Paro Taktsang, Bhutan

[cchpmn-blog]

Hà Giang

C. Chapman, 2017

[weifeili95]

cat ba, lan ha bay

[thunderstruck9]

Hernan Bas (American, b. 1978), The party crasher, 2014. Acrylic on linen, 72 x 60 in.

[nostalgiaforinfinity]

Before the bustle of the day | Hoi An Old Town at 6am 

[nearlylauren]

just storing this somewhere bc it’s cute

[nearlylauren]

the most endlessly supportive and goofy person. look at that smile i see every day !

[nearlylauren]

[nearlylauren]

we were aching tummies,

grief-stricken with games

of who will get bored first

and who will mean it.

she was a secret that should’ve spilled

three empty glasses of water

by her bedside and dropped hands

to familiar faces in streets

we walked in, looking in windows

of thrown together weddings,

but loved all the same.

i was the makeup left on her pillows,

a constant sweat

from touching her,

and reminders in elevators

that i slept well,

that i had a spot to come back to,

there were still hills to fall on,

and that maybe we could be in love

with games meant for us

if the neverending is playable

and no one comes in first.

[nearlylauren]

she walked behind me when i was starting the morning with champagne without orange juice, the color of her hair high-strung and her back to me, but i remember the way her eyes blushed when she cried, so i didn’t need her to turn and tell me happy birthday, not to drink too much, and that i hurt her by leaving when she told me to. by noon i was wine drunk, smoking cigarettes with best friends, in cars i swore i would never smoke in and learning the names of fitting room attendants and sunglasses that wouldn’t fit my face. i fell asleep alone, and woke up to darkness within earshot, an itch to drink cocktails on the rooftop and walk to someone else’s home, hand in hand and far from everything else that has ever touched me; where beach houses sounded like hauntings, my best songs were played too often, and seasickness was a quiet murmur i could clutch with my hands. the seven-piece band i loved seven years ago felt unquiet, but unnoticed, and i wanted to feel it in my open mouth, hands backwards on the bathroom tiles, and eyes that were every bit of the room, but i was nowhere to be found. i was not seen, or heard, but i knew my arms were the color of plums, that my ex’s belt was hated and loved, and i never wanted to do this again. there were feet running on the driveway, and seconds later, the doorbell rang the first note, over and over again, until my never-been-washed shirt was tear-filled, the world was less black, my song stopped short of all over, and i would get to know the next morning.

[nearlylauren]