#wirterscreed

[ninasdrafts]

I want to pretend this could last forever. You and me. Half-closed curtains. Sunlight filtering into the room, painting your face golden. Your eyes closed. Mine wide open, fearing that if I so much as blink you'll slip out through the door. You called me a good time and I used to think that was all there was to it. I used to think it was all I could be. To you. To anyone. But this morning is different. I blink and you're not gone. I try not to breathe too hard so I don't wake you, but after a while I understand that you won't disappear if I make a sound. Maybe I want to be more than a good time, I think. More than held back, texts left on read, cancelled weekend plans to make more room for you. For a possible you. I never know if you'll call. More than "it's not like that". Because maybe it is and for once I'm not the problem. I want to pretend this could last forever. You and me. Hearts carved half-open but souls completely guarded. The kind of feeling you give to me when we lie in the semi-darkness, not talking. Because I know that if I say something things might change. But they might change for the better. They might change in a way I wouldn't have expected. Maybe I can be more than a good time. Maybe I can be someone's all the time. Someone's forever. Maybe that someone just isn't you.

someone's all the time / n.j.

[sincerelysharon]

I've realised, that in some form or another, we all may be poets. Something true remains within us all and it allows for poetry to surprise us, softly and immediately. Though I suppose, alternatively, words have a way of finding us when we need them or even when we don’t need them. I think there may be something glorious or merciful in the way this happens, this synergy of words and voice and connection. But then again, this may be the tired romantic in me.

fermenting a jar of lemons and sugar, orange corduroy sofas with plush lime green cushions. the sharp smell of vinegar and chips, her tired eyes fluttering closed // archaic remains 86

[lunasung]

As the days begin to fade

and moonlight lingers by,

for something more I’ve searched and prayed

to fill the void in my life.

Remembering times when plans were laid,

and I was reaching for the sky,

but residual scars produced a shade,

and now I cannot see so high.

- Pamela Brown / how it happened

[bitchinthefridge]

... and every time I hear your name

I feel something that’s hard to explain

it’s like feeling the sun on your skin

after a month of storms and heavy rain

it’s something that makes me so obsessed

no matter how much time has passed

and how hard it was to forget the pain

it makes me feel the same things again

the moment our eyes collide

and when you try to hide your smile

not too obvious so no one could see

but I know exactly that it was meant for me

[thelostpage]

lost in the air

Every scars on your soul has something to tell, Read me the story of their silence, I want to hear each of them loud and clear, come, hold my hand and lets lost in the air