M.F

(23) (INTP-A) (Aquarius)

[synonymousme]

“You’ve got a heart of gold,”

she said.

“But gold is heavy.”

-m.f

[synonymousme]

They ask if the tree

makes a sound when it falls

Because no one was there

to hear it

But I heard the sound

the tree made when it fell

And it sounded a lot

like heartbreak.

-m.f.

[synonymousme]

my dream

We were walking towards the path that would take us down the hill, and what you– did next– has left me screaming still. You looked across that open sea of rocks and trees and dirt, you looked and without another breath were soaring ‘cross the earth. I had no time to grab you. I had no time to yell. You had glanced a second chance, one that left me in this Hell. I still see your arms outspread, your face a distant mask; as you fell through air that screamed and cried, I think I heard you laugh.

-m.f

[synonymousme]

Levees

‘All levees can break, can overflow. People are no different.’

‘What happens when people break?’

‘When they were a levee... then everyone else drowns.’ -M.F

[synonymousme]

I stared into a rippling pool and saw the ocean's waves. I heard a whisper in the wood and imagined it the fey. A fire burns and crackles bright and in the flames, I see a golden girl of heat and light… a girl I wish to be. I met a cat’s judgmental eyes and wondered if it knew that without the mercy of a God ‘nine lives’ is just for show. I crossed a door lined thick with salt and laughed with lips pressed tight; what do these kindly people know of what stalks them in the night? I watch the girl of fire dancing and think calmly of that pond, of the door shaded by salt, and the whispers in the pines. I flick my fingers gently and the vision disappears, leaving some smoke and ashes, and memories now unclear. But one day, I promise calmly, with my eyes lit by hot coals, one day the fire won’t go out. I’ll help it spread and grow. -M.F.

[synonymousme]

Have you ever looked at your shirt and wondered where the bullet holes were? Where did the blood and mud vanish to? Where are your broken bones, your scorched skin, your missing limbs?

I have, my darling. I have reminded myself a thousand times those holes never existed. I never wore blood or mud like that dress I had on last night. My cast never interfered with prom… my blistered skin never made me question a photograph, and no, those aren’t ghost pains. My darling... Those of us who fight these battles… our scars are not seen by the world.

Our scars are not seen by us, either.

What a blessing. What a curse.

Sometimes I wonder if they are really there… I wonder if they are there, and I wonder if I am real. Or if it is all as unreal as the gunshot I felt last night.

[synonymousme]

To the Libra who Longs for an Aries <3

Well, my darling Libra, you’ve got a heart of gold. And who better to balance a raging bull? You could tame the strong and bold. You’re the stoking air that fuels a fire, or the suffocation of a blaze. You’re the freedom of Bahama breezes, or the weight of responsibility’s gaze. You build up walls and tear them down, you know what people need. And you’re ready to provide it, should they give you leave. But, my dear, charming Libra, do you give yourself that grace? Do you take the time to measure out a safe and balanced space? Keep in mind what passion is, and that a bull is strong and brave. Inviting one to be your friend should come with agreements to behave. Guide your young bulls temper, and support goodness with all your heart, and over time you’ll have a partner with whom you’ll never part. -M.F.

[synonymousme]

We believe it and we mean it. Then we question it, and we lie about it. There’s a time when we ignore it. And we fake it. Then we pray for it, and pray for it. Someday we understand it. And we wish for it. And then there’s the day when we simply get it, because we are all ‘fine’ too. -M.F.

[a-titty-ninja]

[synonymousme]

He said it was a place with birds and old trucks passing by. He told her it was cloudless days; an endless, clear blue sky. He mentioned the smell of heated leather and the sound of wind brushing wheat; there was something about a popsicle, and a girl with pigtails down the street. He said it was some old photograph of a place no one’s never been. He told her it was strangers laughing, after they’ve all had too much gin. He mentioned that first, run-down apartment, the one where nothing ever ever works; there was something about ramen noodles, and not knowing how to cook. He said it was a road trip, one none of them packed for. He told her it was an airport, empty from twelve to four. He mentioned the way those mornings felt, ones with books and coffee and tea; there was something about a quiet night, drinking wine in the sand by the sea. He asked if she would know this place, if she knew where to look? But he never let her answer him, instead he handed her the book.

[synonymousme]

She knew that when they said they loved the quiet, they didn’t mean they loved silence. They meant the white noise, birds singing, cars passing, piano playing, wind kissing the window- panes quiet. Nobody ever means silence, not really. Because she knew what it was like, to receive silence instead of quiet. Deafening, bone shattering, air-sucking silence. Nobody truly means that.

-m.f

[synonymousme]

Look in the field full of daisies,

check on the docks by the sea.

Climb up the closest mountain,

take the trails that are covered in leaves. 

Search in the rain when there’s lightning,

and stand in the shade of the trees,

wait for when your heart aches in these places

because that’s when she said she’d be.

-m.f

[synonymousme]

Tinkling laughter and soft summer breezes… shouting and splashing and warm smoky kitchens… beach music blasting and windy car rides, these are the sounds from the start of my life. Then there were whispers and strangers all talking… beeping and footsteps and phones always ringing… I’ll never forget that heart- pounding beat, it is a sound that still haunts in my sleep. shuffling papers and ice in the scotch glass… fog- muted laughter and frat music next door… family laughter and city night sounds, this is my music, a theme song of life.

-M.F

[synonymousme]

like the sun, aren’t we?

He looked at the sun,

and suddenly understood.

Because… was he not like the sun?

He looked down at the flower;

the flower that he had just watered.

The flower that he had planted

in a bed full of rich soil.

The flower that had to be shaded

from that sun for part of every day.

Were they not all like the sun?

Trying their best to grow things,

to nourish the flowers in their lives…

but always, they are too much.

And yet never enough.

-M.F

[synonymousme]

I woke up from this place where the world was black and blue where the fields were full of flowers and the road swallowed my shoes. I woke from an air raid, from a death chase through the trees. Where moments ago I was drowning, I woke up in dry sheets. My movements still feel lagged, like they did when I tried to fight. My brain is still afraid of what is in the night. I woke up from that place, several hours ago. And yet I’m still not sure, if all of me came home.

-m.f

[synonymousme]

Paper Mache

I am nothing more than a paper mache doll. Glued together scraps of memories… hung out to dry until my soft skin grew tough. It would never be known, even to me, if it weren’t for those moments when jaws should drop. When mine remains firmly closed.

-m.f

[journeythroughpressure]