#pad17

[unspokengraveyard]

the night i let her go i thought about running after her, thought about swallowing my fear and abandoning reason to chase her down the street, ignoring the sting of the pavement against my bare feet and the shattering of my pride - but i convinced myself i delayed for too long, and it was too late to want things i convinced myself i shouldn't ask for. months later, i thought i still could have gone after her, could have driven to her house, classic boom box above my head, could have called until she told me to stop, could have tapped on her window until she asked me to leave. years later, sometimes i still think it's not too late to go after her, to show up at her doorstep, to tug on her hand, to ask her to stay

a.d.c. // 11/365 // not too late

[emilyjunk]

a.d.c. // 3/365 // Ode to His Disgust (Mother’s Day, 2013) 

Received good advice in the monthly newsletter from @meganfalley-blog today. Sometimes the best form of healing can come from gaining new perspective on moments we might consider some of the worst and most hurtful in our lives. We have a lot to gain by reflecting on how they’ve helped us. Write an ode or song of praise to these moments. Perhaps the new year is the best time for looking back at these past moments and acknowledging how we’ve grown from them

[unspokengraveyard]

Her biggest strength is her ability to See nostalgia in the looking glass And know it reveals an imperfect reflection

a.d.c. // 9/365 // nostalgia

[unspokengraveyard]

On days like this, there is ice in my veins – I have not heard from her in years But the stranger in front of me at the coffee shop Bent her wrists against her hips in the same way. What an odd thing to remember, I think, Staring at the inverted angle connecting bone to bone, What a strange moment to hurt me, To sink under my skin and freeze my blood, Electric Like the storm outside, Sleet on the pavement, Under hurried feet. And now I feel the way she bends her wrist against her hips, Against the steering wheel, Against my own under the covers. On days like this, I am struck by all the new ways there are To still miss her

a.d.c. // 4/365 // Her Wrists

[unspokengraveyard]

To know a monster Is to tame it - To love a monster Is to set it free

a.d.c. // 10/365 // to know a monster

[unspokengraveyard]

he never said goodbye, but i felt it the moment i opened the door, the familiar hallways of this house seemed a maze and when my face peered into the fun home mirror, a stranger stared back. he had left, and i smelled it in the air like the stale coffee he had left in the pot, in how his missing shoes near the door spoke louder than any letter, any speech he might have given me, he never said goodbye, but i heard it in the silence, the absence of his shuffling on the stairs, i tasted it in the evening a bitter heartache on my tongue when i'd remember how he used to lure himself into sleep with a lullaby of my breathing. he never said goodbye, and on days when the mailman sounds like him on the porch, and the neighbor hums his favorite song in the driveway, i take comfort in knowing that neither did i

a.d.c. // 12/365 // he never said goodbye

[unspokengraveyard]

Oh teach me to be brave, Give me strength To ignore the screaming of the world When the smallest piece of me whispers: Take a chance

a.d.c. // 7/365 // Chances

[unspokengraveyard]

I wanted to hold those years in my hands But every moment slipped through my fingers like the finest sand Every day I feel their fingerprints Touching my memories and Molding who I am, even now I thought I was afraid of her changing Of our circumstances changing But I was really afraid it was me who was different Some days that time exists in the snow globe behind my skull I’ll give it a shake and the memories float down to me one at a time, Then all at once I thought if I never changed I couldn’t blame myself for the aftermath For the moments we had always been changing That I could only see in retrospect But they came tumbling down the mountain all at once Then one at a time Some days they still fall Grains of sediment and sand To remind me that I can’t build my life around The expectation that I won't change

a.d.c. // 5/365 // After “Landslide”