៚ ᴡᴇʟᴄᴏᴍᴇ

portuguese || she/her || writing some things

[tenmallow]

Oslo.

Oslo looks beautiful in the summer. Maybe it does in the winter too, but to be honest I don't really care.

I had no desire to see Oslo until I saw you, with your incandescent smile and sparkling eyes as you show me all the places to visit.

And for the first time, I was jealous of a city. I was jealous of Oslo, because it had seen you like I never did, of all the sidewalks you've ever walked on, of all the trees that saw your smile and of all the breezes that touched you.

Your old job, the best pizzeria in town, the modern library, the town beach. Everything seems extremely beautiful to me, but it's your enthusiasm that captures me. Your excitement and admiration for your beloved city make my eyes never leave your face, adorned with a smile as big as the bridge you show me.

And I find myself looking up flights, with money I don't have and my heart in my mouth. Because in a few months you will belong to Oslo again, and you will take my heart with you. The one that has been yours since your lips touched mine, since all the stupid and meaningless conversations on the terrace in the sun.

At that moment, looking at your screen, I realized that my biggest enemy was Oslo.

02.04.2025

[tenmallow]

The way your body functions has me amazed

There’s nothing else I can say, you just amaze me. With your blue eyes, as clear as when the sun hits the sea. And your brown locks, flowing from your scalp in such a hypnotizing way. You have me amazed.

The way you carry yourself, so awkward but at the same time so endearing, like an embarrassed kid. I can’t help the way my gaze softens everytime my eyes land on you or how my hands tremble around you, itching and aching to touch your pale skin. To press soft kisses on each and every single freckle that has the pleasure of adorning your skin.

I am so utterly amazed by you, there’s nothing else I can say.

I wonder if your back is as soft as your cheeks, if your knees have the same pinkish hue as your shoulders or if your kisses always taste the same.

I adore you, I can’t deny it anymore. Not with the way my eyes seem to search for you in every room or how a smile spreads on my cheeks everytime I pass by the place where we kissed.

I can only say, the way your body functions has me amazed.

25.03.2025

[endlessnebula]

"I'm not in love with you the way other's might be, because I'm in love with you."

Compass Quotes #4

[tenmallow]

Stupid Thing.

Stupid thing. That’s what you called it.

Stupid thing. That’s how I felt.

Stupid? Friends? Friends don’t look at each other the way you looked at me that night, as if you saw the reflection of a galaxy in my eyes. Friends don’t feel each other’s bodies the way I felt yours. My friends’ mouths don’t intertwine with mine like yours melted in mine.

Friends. How can we be friends after I’ve gotten a taste of your love, that cold night love that warms and makes my body explode like a flame that never goes out. How can we go back to being just friends if your mouth tastes like water in the desert, like childhood love. How can we go back to being just friends if on the day I first laid my eyes on you, I knew it was on you that I wanted to die, die and bloom again.

Maybe we are friends, just in the sense of the word, because my love for you surpasses any comprehensible barrier, any obstacle that you yourself impose.

Casually friends, constant lovers in the waves of time, what needs to happen for you to see that it wasn’t friends who made me laugh and blush on that railing? It was you. And you are not my friend.

If you were, I wouldn’t have felt that when I looked up at you, while your hands cupped my face, I would have given up everything for you.

22.03.2025

[tenmallow]

Casual?

I feel like these days I don't do anything else but write.

And you are always the subject of my study. Your blue eyes, the shimmer of your nostril’s piercing on the lights, the brown cascade that flows from your head.

I thought we had changed that night. I thought it was now that you were going to look at me and not at her, but I’m still in the back. I’m only an outlet for when your heart aches and you don’t see her.

I’m an easy target, I know it and you know it too. I’m the target of your binge drinking, of your drunken kisses and of the pain that squeezes your chest.

I can’t seem to be honest with myself. I try to convince myself that we can be casual, that the hugs are enough when really all I want is to tear your skin and crawl inside you until we become one. I would give anything to see your eyes on me, for you to shut me up with your lips when you can’t stand to hear me anymore.

But I was not made for casual. I am devoted to you no matter how much you rip me open with the knife that are your words, which pierce through my chest like a dagger. And even so, my blood runs for you, my heart asks for one last embrace.

We were everything and a forever. But your forever only lasts one night.

18.03.2025

[tenmallow]

One Kiss.

One kiss.

I think you were drunk, you say you are not and suddenly I see you leaning closer.

Your hand on my waist, my arms around your neck and now everything seems to be making sense. The mindless conversation from before is forgotten, the cold running through my body doesn’t bother me anymore and so I close my eyes.

Your lips against mine, our tongues engaged in a frenetic battle and you win, because you always win. It seems my body was made to relax when you pull me closer, muscles of jello that melts in your hands.

Then, when we pull back with a shaky breath, you have that stupid smile on your face, the one that makes me want more, that makes me lose all reason and stay with you.

“Konpeito?” leaves your mouth, the subject returns and the conversation flows between us as if you didn't just make a supernova explode inside me. I think, think of your lips, my gaze focused on them while you talk.

But not everything lasts forever. You say you will be going home, I want more. I want to feel your hands on my body once again, want to feel the warmth of your fingers roaming over my back.

In your eyes I see the reflection of mine, on that obsolete street where our hearts beat in sync and the world it’s ours.

A goodbye kiss. A see you later and a kiss.

16.03.2025

[tenmallow]

Maybe I should have stopped

I told everyone what happened that night.

On that fateful night, one glass too many one glass too few. Maybe I should have stopped, maybe the chill on my belly when I pulled you was the signal for me to keep quiet.

Maybe I should have stopped when you told me it was her. Maybe I should have stopped when your eyes got locked on her and your smile widened. Maybe I should have stopped when you hugged me and told me that everything would be alright.

And then everything changed.

After I didn’t stop, you and her look at each other and I see the world in your eyes. The shimmering blue on the night’s lights of your eyes reflects the sea flowing from mine. And for the thousandth time that night I see how you chase her steps, how the path seems to light for you and I stay. I stay because I can’t go, because you are not mine even if I am yours.

And now I can only think, maybe I should have stopped.

14.03.2025

[tenmallow]

Going through the worst break up in my life and we're not even dating

[tenmallow]

A scene of Self-Portrait

Empty rooms, gallery hallways full of blank paintings.

If I described myself like this, would it still be me? I’m an old sheet, crunched by the time and eaten by the termites.

Perhaps it would be more appropriate to say that I am a deer in a dark street at 3am, running towards the headlights of a car, inevitably sealing its own death. Or a moth, fully conscious of the pain that light causes but chooses to bathe in it, in an attempt to feel even a fleeting sense of warmth.

I’m a lie, because I’m not really me. I am but a piece of every single person that passed by me, a museum of memories and stories I carry on my skin. I am my mother, I am my father, I am my sister, I am my friends, I am my cat, I am him? I am a low, blue, cold light, like the dim light of an open refrigerator on a dark morning, maybe even the refrigerator itself. I am a mixture of things, all of them small and even a little sad, that form a body.

A body. Do I really have a body? Or am I just skin, muscles, fibers, tendons, organs, blood, tears, sweat, teeth, screams, hair, nails, sadness, bones, saliva and pain?

In truth, I am everything and in truth, I am nothing.

07.03.2025

[tenmallow]

Theatre of the Aching Chest

A pain. An incovenience. Unknown figures and Ghosts of Lost Loves. A canvas. White page and coldness. Second choices, people that don’t exist, the reflection on the mirror of the person I don’t know I am. A pile of shattered hearts on the bathtub, running water from the tap and from the eyes. Two people. Three people? Crossed glances that are not reciprocated, cups on the ground and rivers of the drinks we should have stopped drinking. Smoke from the cigarette you say you don’t smoke, fire from the lighter I don’t have. Is this the meaning of loving? Breaking myself in millions while receiving air. I would give you the world had you asked. I would stay by your side even if a bomb disfigured us. I would wait for you even if that meant an eternal tightness in my chest.

28.02.2025

[cowboyhatesithere]

I love personalization. I love stickers on water bottles and on laptops. I love shitty marker drawing on the toes of converse. I love hand embroidered doodles on jeans. I love posters on walls. I love knick knacks on shelves. I love jewelry with goofy charms. I love when people take things and make them theirs.

[daily-spooky]

[tenmallow]

They are in bed. Nude and so pretty. They have never looked so beautiful to me as they do now. So simple, so raw. Undressed and stripped of any artificial adornment of everyday life, their skin as white as the picture I paint. The flame-coloured hair of one of them, spread out on the pillows, seems to surround them both, like a protective cocoon, a divine halo.

No one sees them like I see them, no one understands them like I understand them. The world is cruel, to me and to them. The world is vile, raw and disgusting. But, on this room, the world cannot reach us. We are only three. Three bodies, three souls, three pairs of eyes that look at each other in silent complicity. They know and so do I, between the walls of this room we are not our titles. We are people.

And so I see everything happen slowly. I turn my gaze from the canvas for a moment and they kiss. A kiss as soft as a mother’s caress, but at the same time as hot as the flames of a fire. Suddenly, we are no longer three in that room. They merge in a single body, in a comforting hug between two lovers, full lips intertwined. I can only watch, never have it.

They love each other. I am a spectator of this love between two people who the world says are not worthy of having it. I am the eternalizer of this union, so pure in the purest sense of the word. My hands are the canvas, and they are the paint.

[trustonlystars]

Poetry is the softest way to hold a memory.

Happy World Poetry day | trustonlystars

[jmweaverauthor]

There's nothing more important than writing what you want to read. Don't worry about who will like your book. Don't worry about what market it can neatly fit into. Don't cut corners or blunt edges to satisfy an imaginary person who might dislike aspects of your art. It's yours. Treat it as a pure expression of your soul. Compromise is for cowards.

[tenmallow]

i was tagged by @sadcreatureofthenight , i had fun :)

here's the link!

tagging: @myherowritings and @d-joana-a-shippadora

[seoulwave]

My last 4 braincells panicking over everything going on in the world