paper thin

write until it doesn't hurt anymore

[s-mearedink]

in some sense, i miss longing for you

for that duration of time

i never once doubted being alive

life swelled inside my chest

flowers sprouted from my parted lips

green roots stretched out from my fingers tips

every inch of my garden buzzed

i knew i was alive

now i’m not too sure

[s-mearedink]

i’m trying to move on

(i promise i am)

it seems i’ve gotten stuck

frozen in space & time

in the exact moment i looked into your eyes

when i noticed an armour of dark lashes

protecting sapphire blue

& sunflower yellow

i’m trying to move on

(i promise)

the cluster of freckles

drawn on your cheek bone

like a harmonious painting

that is begging to be finished

yet the artist can’t find the brush

(i’m trying)

your body radiated warmth

on the coldest of nights

& engulfed my sheets

i lay shivering awaiting your call

i’m cold

[s-mearedink]

I could have written a thesis on how the blue and yellow fused in your eyes. I would have recognised the corner of your smile in a bustling crowd. Your voice at night, when you were too sleepy to string together sentences, and instead, murmured into my skin. Your illegible handwriting. Your coffee order. Your face when we were kissing. I use to squint to see it. Your laugh. I can still hear your laugh. Hearing you play piano. Watching you read. Two mugs. Two slices of toast. Two cigarettes. It is you, it is you, it is always going to be you and that is the problem.

[s-mearedink]

As the sun started to rise, we continued to exchange whispers. We never touched. Even our hands kept their distance. Instead, I held on to every sentence that floated from his lips. Clutching the words in the palm of my hand. Praying the letters would indent my skin. My god, I did not want to forget.

s-mearedink

[s-mearedink]

After silencing our alarms, we would award ourselves with a few extra minutes to embrace. Skipping tea and toast for quiet kisses and gentle caresses. The only audible sound being our beating hearts. My legs interlacing his like the boughs of an oak-tree. My god, I loved the taste of his skin.

s-mearedink.

[s-mearedink]

There is a full moon tonight. It is pulsing in the sky. I feel unhinged when I look at it. It has that affect. The moon births lunatics every month. Apparently, dementia patients lose their heads over a full moon. They aimlessly wander the grounds at night, yelling abuse at the staff and each other. Sometimes, staring at the moon drains me. It sucks away at my energy. I bet it uses it to exert light into the deserted sky. Like a lighthouse. Guiding all the lunatics home.

s-mearedink

[s-mearedink]

my thoughts are dark murky water i need help i am screaming out for help can no one hear me can no one see me drowning i am swallowing water by the second my lungs are filling up they are going to overflow my chest is going to collapse in on itself people are nearby yet they are not close enough to hear my voice

[s-mearedink]

I miss the mediterranean sea. I crave the hot, tangible air. Sunrises, sunsets, ice cold drinks, freckles, bare legs, someone else’s sheets. I want excitement.

[s-mearedink]

We did not roar or bellow; we spoke only in hushed whispers. No spiteful slurs were spat. There was already so much pain, why inflict any more?

Your flatmate continued to sleep peacefully next door, unaware that the world was ending just metres away from their pillow. 

I am sorry. I will always love you. I am going to miss you more than you will ever know.

I meant every word. Every syllable. I am sorry. I do love you. I miss you more than you will ever know. 

[michaelbogild-deactivated202503]

And I miss you in the morning And I miss you in the evening And I miss you when I’m drinking And I miss you when I’m dreaming I miss you, I miss you, I miss you all the time

[s-mearedink]

I don’t think I love you like I use to. Although, maybe I just love you in a different way? Has time blurred and smudged and confused my judgement? How am I meant to know who I love? I don’t even know what I want for breakfast most mornings. I sometimes feel like screaming. How I would relish in screaming. Screaming I do not fucking know the answer to that question. I feel too young to decide anything for myself. Mother once told me I will make better decisions with age. She promised over time I would get to know myself. Now in my twenties, I am almost definitely no wiser. I could not tell you a single damn thing about myself. Maybe I could tell you that at some point in time, I did. Yeah, I definitely did love you.

s-mearedink

[s-mearedink]

You have a bad habit for repeating stories, And I thought I would grow tired of it, like how I grew tired of my last boyfriend’s stories, However, your stories grip me like fingertips around a loose thread, My phone lays discarded on the floor as your voice captures my absolute attention, Knees knocking in apprehension I see your mind taking you back to that time and place, I catch my eyes falling to the righthand corner of your mouth, It twitches, just slightly, before you’re about to break into laughter, I sit attentively as each syllable takes flight from your lips and starts to dance above your head, Causing menace and mischief to any passerby, You flick to the first page and begin to read, I feel like the luckiest person in the room, Because I know exactly how it ends.

s-mearedink

[s-mearedink]

“Stuck in the habit of late nights,

Questions follow the black rings drawn around my eyes,

They always want to know why I never make it on time,

How do I describe my romance with night,

An unrequited love for constellations and nocturnal life,

The breathlessness that begins when the sun drops,

Drops out of my eye line,

Only to leave a picture perfect horizon,

Engulfing me with dirty thoughts and sticky sheets,

The smell of sky clogging up my dreams.”

s-mearedink

[wordsnquotes]

I never realized what a big deal that was. How amazing it is to find someone who wants to hear about all the things that go on in your head.

Nina LaCour, Hold Still (via wordsnquotes)

[lotsofpinkplaid]

It ends or it doesn’t. That’s what you say. That’s how you get through it. The tunnel, the night, the pain, the love. It ends or it doesn’t. If the sun never comes up, you find a way to live without it. If they don’t come back, you sleep in the middle of the bed, learn how to make enough coffee for yourself alone. Adapt. Adjust. It ends or it doesn’t. It ends or it doesn’t. We do not perish.

Caitlyn Siehl (via lotsofpinkplaid)

[s-mearedink]

during the day i can share secrets over coffee stained mugs and exchange whispers about my concupiscence right up until the clocks tick to 2 a.m  when the birds are too fast asleep to catch any secrets in their beaks  i lay in between cotton and think of you gazing up at the same stars holding a pillow slightly tighter and pulling the duvet slightly higher i am left to stare at the sky and just hope just hope and pray that you are staring too

bedtime. (s-mearedink)

[s-mearedink]

being your daughter is similar to being given one chance when you need two, similar to having tea bags but no milk, wine but no glass, you gave me life and then decided not to be apart of it you’re the reason i breathe and also the reason i struggle to at times, every limb, every freckle, every hair, all only in existence because of you, yet i can’t pay gratitude to absence, i can’t pay gratitude to intermittency and ignored calls and cancelled plans you gave me life, and then grabbed it right out of my hands, all i am left with is your nature to scurry away from love, dive head first into toxicity, prioritise myself and only myself, i live in a closed book and slam shut on any fingers that attempt to peal me open, all thanks to you.

being your daughter.