#bellesparoles

[bellesparolesclub-blog]

bellesparolesclub "When I think that you're mine You start to slip away" #ImCallin @tennisinc by @isaquatrevingthuit

[eirine2505-blog]

"Je t'écris des lettres", @felixradu ✨✒️ #bellesparoles #amour #beautifulwords #love (à Beaufays, Liege, Belgium) https://www.instagram.com/p/B7zKFh_n_Pb/?igshid=ip0dav04hg9h

[erilaz]

Romanticism

The days are numbered for loud, unapologetic declarations

of ideals that only stick together between ink and paper

Now it's just half of what we're used to

picking at crumbs and pretending to be ladies,

isn't easy when you're hungry for a revolution.

You crave finality in a world where the plot line

was lost in a place too primal

for our ironic demeanors to ever find.

We babble on like streams, never finishing anything

not even our sentences

keeping fragments in a cracked bowl.

it used to keep our mood rings

when we didn't want to know if we were

stressed blacks or mellow blues.

The romance of an era

is choking on it's own values,

where fake plastic flowers adorn heads

in tiny boxes passing for apartments

when there are so many houses

made of living things

like a tall rock where we used to play make believe

or the warmth of someone's eyes

catching your own.

[erilaz]

I want something more substantial than stale menthols

taking up the space between my lips

usually reserved for scathing remarks about the way you say your name

so often it sounds like morse code

and becomes a genie born from smoke into the dungeon

that is our two bedroom apartment

just north of Flushing.

ready to grant you the three wishes we’ve been promised

by Hollywood logic.

i. 

You eat everything in sevens:

seven almonds for a post workout snack

poking at the seven ounces of steak

under the covers for you own rinky-dink performance

of seven minutes in heaven

I wish I could forget the habits you’ve packed tight

between the nightstand and the closet

filling my shoes with an acrid

attention to detail.

ii.

The day the sun was eclipsed by the moon

was a day I wasn’t impressed with anything else.

not your butterfly kisses

not the dust motes that found their way to the single beam

of orange light.

I wish your grey eyes could eclipse the gaping holes

in what you keep calling love.

I don’t get it.

iii.

Holding hands does nothing for me

Mine are calloused

yours are cold

and maybe I sweat a little too much

whenever my favorite song comes on

and my hips shake involuntarily.

You don’t seem to mind.

I wish I could be more like you

my love.

[erilaz]

Quirks

The way you love America is so foreign to me. I'm used to the constant bombardment of hatred and irony that your genuine love for a country that takes responsibility for everything takes me by surprise. It halts and stirs something weirdly primal in me. Kinda makes me want to write. But that's what I'm doing right now, isn't it?

The way you backtrack in a conversation makes me smile. You crave finality in a World that is all about fleeting images and vignettes. You listen to us babble on like streams, without filters or regard to a plot line. You have a lot of patience in that way. 

The way you have to make sure I'm kidding is endearing. You live in this place which forces a kind of confidence onto us that none of us will ever have. And instead of being afraid, you disregard it and ask if I'm being sarcastic anyway. Which I am. Always. 

[erilaz]

[cruellin]

Ce qu'on aime est toujours beau

[cruellin]

Avoir le cafard