Maria K

@pennedbymariak

art is long. life is short.

78 posts

somewhere between the gulped down I love yous, the whiskey that used to burn me harsh is no longer foreign.

it does not sear pain nearly as much as it would to spill the tall stories you have missed while we were apart.

the pacing I know so well has picked up, adrenaline picks at my scabs now, you notice the knots becoming undone but the drinks have just been refilled for this party of two.

I took a shot when you brought up an inside joke and another after you admitted it now belonged to our past lives from whom we borrow memories, as if we needed any validation of what once was. you nudge your elbow against mine, “Do you remember?” as if I could have forgotten. as if I had the luxury to. - maria k [nov 2025]

if i didn't know any better, i would have let the pit in my stomach go.

oh, but i know this pit in my stomach so well.

it pushed my hair back behind my ear and it learned the weight of my hand when i had no other company. i met with the depths of it in the tiny corners of my Asphalt blue room. i have its lingering look memorized like the back of my hand. i am well acquainted with the intensity it brings me that i have its first name imprinted in frequencies that match only the vibrato of your laughter.

i memorized the dark layers my body had to adapt, just so a little light of you could peak through. i ignore the bursting of the smallest of my veins every time i see you, because i grew fond of the feeling. i carry it all in the pit of my stomach because, what use is my chest if asked to carry the entirety of it all? surely, my lungs could not take it. and my heart is too tender to survive having you so near.

i limit the feeling because i was not used to having it often catching me off guard. i find that there is something so particularly endearing in the way you smile. you tell me "well, that's what love normally does for you." you think of our conversations like it is simply nothing short of the ordinary. it is human, yes. but nothing quite of this length and enormity has ever been mundane to me.

if i didn't know any better, i would have let the pit in my stomach go.

oh, but i know this pit in my stomach so well.

it pushed my hair back behind my ear and it learned the weight of my hand when i had no other company. i met with the depths of it in the tiny corners of my Asphalt blue room. i have its lingering look memorized like the back of my hand. i am well acquainted with the intensity it brings me that i have its first name imprinted in frequencies that match only the vibrato of your laughter.

i memorized the dark layers my body had to adapt, just so a little light of you could peak through. i ignore the bursting of the smallest of my veins every time i see you, because i grew fond of the feeling. and i carry it all in the pit of my stomach because, what use is my chest if asked to carry the entirety of it all? surely, my lungs could not take it. and my heart is too tender to survive having you this near.

you think of our conversations like it is simply nothing short of the ordinary. i find that there is something so particularly endearing in the way you smile and tell me "well, that's what love normally does for you." well, it is human, yes. but nothing quite of this length and enormity is mundane to me.

if i didn't know any better, i would have let the pit in my stomach go.

oh, but i know this pit in my stomach so well.

it pushed my hair back behind my ear and it learned the weight of my hand when i had no other company. i met with the depths of it in the tiny corners of my Asphalt blue room. i have its lingering look memorized like the back of my hand. i am well acquainted with the intensity it brings me that i have its first name imprinted in frequencies that match only the vibrato of your laughter.

i memorized the dark layers my body had to adapt, just so a little light of you could peak through. i ignore the bursting of the smallest of my veins every time i see you, because i grew fond of the feeling. and i carry it all in the pit of my stomach because, what use is my chest if asked to carry the entirety of it all? surely, my lungs could not take it. and my heart is too tender to survive having you this near.

you think of our conversations like it is simply nothing short of the ordinary. i find that there is something so particularly endearing in the way you smile and tell me "well, that's what love normally does for you." well, it is human, yes. but nothing quite of this length and enormity is mundane to me.

if i didn't know any better, i would have let the pit in my stomach go.

oh, but i know this pit in my stomach so well.

it pushed my hair back behind my ear and it learned the weight of my hand when i had no other company. i met with the depths of it in the tiny corners of my Asphalt blue room. its lingering look memorized at the back of my hand. i am well acquainted with the intensity it brings me that i have its i name memorized in wavelengths that only matches the vibrato of your laugh.

my body adapted to take on the dark layers of myself, just so a little light of you could peak through. i ignore the bursting of the smallest of my veins every time i see you, because i grew fond of the feeling. and i carry it in the pit of my stomach because, what use are my lungs if asked to carry the entirety of it all? i am certain my breathing could not take it.

i think there is something so particularly endearing in the way you smile and tell me "well, that's what love normally does for you." it is human, yes. but nothing of this length and enormity is mundane to me.

if i didn't know any better, i would have let the pit in my stomach go.

oh, but i know this pit in my stomach so well.

it pushed my hair back behind my ear and it learned the weight of my hand when i had no other company. i met with the depths of it in the tiny corners of my Asphalt blue room. its lingering look memorized at the back of my hand. i am well acquainted with the intensity it brings me that i have its i name memorized in wavelengths that only matches the vibrato of your laugh.

my body adapted to take on the dark layers of myself, just so a little light of you could peak through. i ignore the bursting of the smallest of my veins every time i see you, because i grew fond of the feeling. and i carry it in the pit of my stomach because, what use are my lungs if asked to carry the entirety of it all? i am certain my breathing could not take it.

i think there is something so particularly endearing in the way you smile and tell me "well, that's what love normally does for you." it is human, yes. but nothing of this length and enormity is mundane to me.

if i didn't know any better, i would have let the pit in my stomach go.

oh, but i know this pit in my stomach so well.

it pushed my hair back behind my ear and it learned the weight of my hand when i had no other company. i met with the depths of it in the tiny corners of my Asphalt blue room. its lingering look memorized at the back of my hand. i am well acquainted with the intensity it brings me that i have its i name memorized in wavelengths that only matches the vibrato of your laugh.

my body adapted to take on the dark layers of myself, just so a little light of you could peak through. i ignore the bursting of the smallest of my veins every time i see you, because i grew fond of the feeling. and i carry it in the pit of my stomach because, what use are my lungs if asked to carry the entirety of it all? i am certain my breathing could not take it.

i think there is something so particularly endearing in the way you smile and tell me "well, that's what love normally does for you." it is human, yes. but nothing of this length and enormity is mundane to me.

if i didn't know any better, i would have let the pit in my stomach go.

oh, but i know this pit in my stomach so well.

it pushed my hair back behind my ear and it learned the weight of my hand when i had no other company. i met with the depths of it in the tiny corners of my Asphalt blue room. its lingering look memorized at the back of my hand. i am well acquainted with the intensity it brings me that i have its i name memorized in wavelengths that only matches the vibrato of your laugh.

my body adapted to take on the dark layers of myself, just so a little light of you could peak through. i ignore the bursting of the smallest of my veins every time i see you, because i grew fond of the feeling. and i carry it in the pit of my stomach because, what use are my lungs if asked to carry the entirety of it all? i am certain my breathing could not take it.

i think there is something so particularly endearing in the way you smile and tell me "well, that's what love normally does for you." it is human, yes. but nothing of this length and enormity is mundane to me.

i had almost a decade worth of words shared with you.

but i hate that none of them actual goodbyes.

i had almost a decade worth of words shared with you.

but i hate that none of them actual goodbyes.

a favor to the loose-tongued

I knew the withdrawal had betrayed me when my surrender began to taste sweet. yet, you mock my healing, by keeping the soft spot you have for me; you ruin me by stealing soft glances, and hardly apologizing for it. my dearest, your love is tender, but it is cruel to me.

raise a glass to gin-gilded confessions, a one-night-only show of divine plans erased by first light, but I think I need to hear silver illusions, just for now, while the drink still lingers in my system. while you still do.

you tell me quietly I never left the back of your mind, but my dry throat forbids me an answer. no response begets a whisper and instead of moving a little closer to hear you, I bite my lip hard enough to keep myself from relearning the weight of your tongue.

bury the hatchet, bury the hatchet, bury the hatchet; is easier said than done when the night is long, when only the moon keeps me company underground, when my arms have tired from digging for a crevice soft enough to hide my baggage.

a favor to the loose-tongued

I knew the withdrawal had betrayed me when my surrender began to taste sweet. yet, you mock my healing, by keeping the soft spot you have for me; you ruin me by stealing soft glances, and hardly apologizing for it. my dearest, your love is tender, but it is cruel to me.

raise a glass to gin-gilded confessions, a one-night-only show of divine plans erased by first light, but I think I need to hear silver illusions, just for now, while the drink still lingers in my system. while you still do.

you tell me quietly I never left the back of your mind, but my dry throat forbids me an answer. no response begets a whisper and instead of moving a little closer to hear you, I bite my lip hard enough to keep myself from relearning the weight of your tongue.

bury the hatchet, bury the hatchet, bury the hatchet; is easier said than done when the night is long, when only the moon keeps me company underground, when my arms have tired from digging for a crevice soft enough to hide my baggage.

somewhere between the gulped down I love yous, the whiskey that used to burn me harsh is no longer foreign.

it does not sear pain nearly as much as it would to spill the tall stories you have missed while we were apart.

the pacing I know so well has picked up, adrenaline picks at my scabs now, you notice the knots becoming undone but the drinks have just been refilled for this party of two.

I took a shot when you brought up an inside joke and another after you admitted it now belonged to our past lives from whom we borrow memories. you nudge your elbow against mine, “Do you remember?” as if we needed any validation of what once was, as if I could have forgotten. as if I had the luxury to.

whiskey for two

you scratch my back and give a toast, warm glass against my lips, its sweetness second only to yours. the familiar rush is honey to me now, fill it up until dawn, I leave the ache for tomorrow’s amnesia I beg of you, a dime, a dozen: say the word.

say the word. say the word. say the word.

either. all of it.

whiskey for two

you scratch my back and give a toast, warm glass against my lips, its sweetness second only to yours. the familiar rush is honey to me now, fill it up until dawn, I leave the ache for tomorrow’s amnesia I beg of you, a dime, a dozen: say the word.

say the word. say the word. say the word.

either. all of it.

I am no stranger to hurt, my flesh is well-acquainted with the blade.

but the remnants of you are carved on my bones. and my ribcage still asks for you by name.

say the word.

a fool’s gold for the addict, a death row meal for the coward; bid me goodbye, or give in to me. bid me goodbye, or give me closure. bid me goodbye— or not at all.

Maria K @pennedbymariak - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag