Word From a Dreamer

College student, political junkie, dreamer, and writer. Likes coffee, scarves, florals, rickety bookshops, and making people happy. This is a collection of her thoughts; enjoy.

[hachedesilencioantiguo]

Elisabet Benavent - Mi elección

[blossomfully]

"Sometimes," she thinks, "he speaks like he could love me." “He smiles and his eyes crinkle and I let myself believe that his fingers have wrapped themselves around more than just my hair. "Because it is tragic," she says quietly, "to fall in love with beautiful words that have no meaning. And smart girls should know better than to arch their backs for boys whose palms press their necks instead of their thighs, and whose words touch their spines instead of their hearts." "He laughs, and I feel each breath like a bullet to the chest. "Because to him, I am nothing and I am everything. "And I," she laughs grimly, "I just wish he would make up his damn mind, because I cannot be both and keep my sanity."

Excerpt from a book I’ll never write #52 (via blossomfully)

[observando]

And now we step to the rhythm of miracles.

Aberjhani (via observando)

[neo-beat]

Be in love with your life. Every detail of it.

 Jack Kerouac

[fishingboatproceeds]

The mower stalled, twice; kneeling, I found A hedgehog jammed up against the blades, Killed. It had been in the long grass. I had seen it before, and even fed it, once. Now I had mauled its unobtrusive world Unmendably. Burial was no help: Next morning I got up and it did not. The first day after a death, the new absence Is always the same; we should be careful Of each other, we should be kind While there is still time.

Philip Larkin, The Mower (via fishingboatproceeds)

[bloodydifficult]

[wordfromadreamer]

flat.

Tonight I am thinking of a city bigger than this small town where we recognize everyone who sips wine from plastic cups at the local theatre. Although it is only August I can feel the cool East coast breeze of "not good enough not smart enough not rich enough" and I wonder if you know that these Midwest planes of emotion are my temporary. Please do not make me move my lips towards yours like an apology, we do not need to be sorry. I do not want to be sorry for this. There is something magical about driving down a straight flat path, melting into the perspective of a Da Vinci masterpiece and settling for wherever the car breaks down. This homegrown Midwest romance might be our temporary but it still might be.

[wordfromadreamer]

You are made of sunshine and gold and I am bleeding moonlight waiting for you.

wordfromadreamer (via wordfromadreamer)

[in-dissoluvel]

[wordfromadreamer]

Now my vision is blurring and I am seeing orange coats and unmade beds and music notes and your face as I left. These images shouldn't run together and I wonder if this is how Monet felt when he refused the operation, seeing things in tragic streaks of feeling that he could not bear to wish away.

wordfromadreamer, an impressionist interpretation of us

[wordfromadreamer]

an impressionist interpretation of us

220 steps between us and I would have rushed back if you had told me I was your muse. I watched my daydreams run down the hill like chalk on a rainy night, watched my watery delusions fill the reflecting pool as I felt your name roll off my tongue. Now my vision is blurring and I am seeing orange coats and unmade beds and music notes and your face as I left. These images shouldn't run together and I wonder if this is how Monet felt when he refused the operation, seeing things in tragic streaks of feeling that he could not bear to wish away. On nights like this I should learn to call you a mistake, but instead I just call you.

[wordfromadreamer]

You are made of sunshine and gold and I am bleeding moonlight waiting for you.

wordfromadreamer (via wordfromadreamer)

[wordfromadreamer]

Then & Now

I fell into you with a head half full of someone else. Someone Else was November. He was practiced hands, hollow apologies, and an unmade bed. But you were April. You were rainstorms of laughter, you were the smell of freshly cut grass, you were a hug and a promise for the spring. Now it is 1 o'clock on a steamy July morning and the rain must have washed away your promise like chalk on pavement. Now you are nothing but a watery delusion. Now my head is half full of Someone Else and half full of You and now I have run out of space for me.

[wordfromadreamer]

I will not ask you to love me on days when my body is a hurricane. But I will need you in the weeks after, when it is declared a disaster zone.

Word From a Dreamer (via synthetic-synaesthesia)

[wordfromadreamer]

Your lips move towards mine like an apology. But this is still confusion and I am still drowning and your velvet hands cannot save me.

wordfromadreamer

[wordfromadreamer]

Will you tread water with me?

I didn’t let you kiss me that last night because we might have something that shouldn’t be interrupted. I want a real beginning, not one rushed by the moonlight and a flight.

This is not easy now and I know we are treading water from different parts of the country, trying to stay afloat but never moving forward. But this could be the start to something good, as long as we don’t sink.

Please, don’t let us sink.

[wordfromadreamer]

You are made of sunshine and gold and I am bleeding moonlight waiting for you.

wordfromadreamer (via wordfromadreamer)