I Remember →
rabbit-light:
By the first of August
the invisible beetles began
to snore and the grass was
as tough as hemp and was
no color–no more than
the sand was a color and
we had worn our bare feet
bare since the twentieth
of June and there were times
we forgot to wind up your
alarm clock and some nights
we took our gin warm and neat
from old jelly glasses while
the sun blew out of sight
like a red picture hat and
one day I tied my hair back
with a ribbon and you said
that I looked almost like
a puritan lady and what
I remember best is that
the door to your room was
the door to mine.
Anne Sexton
(Source: americanpoems.com, via wordpainting)
jetaimelevalley:
Best idea on a hot summer night. (Taken with Instagram at Veracruzana)
grapefruit + vodka, with a carconated twist
"i wanted to give you everything
but i still stand in awe of superficial things"
-civilian by wye oak.
elyse leblanc, i CANNOT stop listening to this song and only this song. i’m not giving the rest of the album any sort of chance because this is on repeat foreveeeeerrr.
"Is it spring where you are?
I waited all winter
chasing the lamp cords back to the wall,
It’s a plausable scenario:
I clung the the stretcher,
I drew them a heart."
the long winters
"we sleep and we talk. we drink alone and together, but still alone when we’re together. and when we drink, we sleep harder and talk louder. we sing and we dance. we abhor coordination and tact, which is why we prefer being naked when singing and dancing. we laugh in basements partly finished and kitchens under demolition and we don’t know why we can’t keep laughing forever. the next day, we wake up bored or thirsty and so instead of driving or hiking, we rinse and repeat. and we sit in grass and clap to accordians and lapsteel and mandolins and beats and we don’t give many actions a second thought because we have realized we simply don’t have time. and as the clocks keep ticking we keep complaining over rice and fake crab and silent films as the leather sticks to summer thighs. we continue to make drinks and call lost friends so the conversation flows smoothly and we can’t remember how true the moment is. or how necessary the action had become, to tell the sincerest of stories. we just keep forgetting the moments importance. and we wave to regret and converse with desire but we stall at possibility and crack under potential. and we try to grasp what lies ahead. its not easy, so we procrastinate and we read the words we want to write and watch the movies we want to film and we replay and rewind our favorite parts. and we stay awake at night and think about the people we’ll forget about and the places that will fade and we have excited butterflies crawling under our skin. tanned or red and fading, our skin can’t stop crawling. so we visit haunted places and create scary moments to awaken our senses and remind our weak hearts how we are never, ever alone. we aren’t bored when we complain. we aren’t fat when we eat. we are not sad when we frown. we are acting out reality, facing it all as if we hate it but loving it all the while. we are missing others and loving those near and we can’t figure out why we get sad when the sun goes down. we are nothing special. we rarely mean the things we say, so we say them and we hope they are understood. overlooked, but not misconstrued or overanalyzed. we want it all and get it all, but think we have nothing."
me, 4 years ago. it’s funny how cyclical life can be.
"and if i hold you now, will i be holding a snowball
when the season changes and i’m craving the sun?"
john roderick, the long winters
