Normal day to day happenings are worlds more charming to me than fairy tales.

The simplicity in the soft light peeking through the blinds, mingling with the pulses of air from the ceiling fan. The way your hair responds to this —bending and swaying like the grass outside. The commonality of rolled down windows, radio blasted to the highest volume, and sun-burnt hands interacting with the wind in the rhythm of the music. The seemingly trivial dust prints on the backs of our pants from the hood of your car, when we all slide off after watching the clouds pass by. Our excited fingers pointing to the moon that always seems a little more brighter, a bit more rounder.

Normal day to day happenings are worlds more charming to me than fairy tales, because they happen.

You know me as I know you. Underneath the dying sunlight, just a few minutes before my flight boarded, after helping me beat a candy bar out of the machine —in huffs and sighs and frustrated curses; hair disheveled and clothes askew, running late to the terminal —both of us, in this bubble of time together. With a breathless thank you in exchange for a polite smile, it was only a brief moment we knew each other; and then we didn’t once more.

lovequotesrus:

Photo Courtesy: leeexislowinski

You’re such a saturated person. Your hues are all out of line, an eyesore at best; but I suppose it’s better than being washed out, right?

——

Your arm felt heavy around my shoulders. Heavy, and warm, and comforting. But I’m not meant to stay.

——

She sat high in the branches, legs swinging —leaning forward and whispering. Sweet words plopped onto his head like raindrops, but her voice was soft enough so that he dismissed it as the passing breeze, filtering through the leaves.

I guess if her words fell in a forest, only she’d be able to hear them.

That behind the struggles with self-depreciation and uncertainty, there’s a person with silent confidence and will, with faith in knowing what should be done, although it has yet to be done.

bookmania:

“Annabel Lee” by Edgar Allan Poe [Manuscript, 2 p., ca. May 1849]. Clearly sensing that “Annabel Lee” would be his last poem, Poe took the unusual step, after finishing it in May 1849, of writing out several copies, of which this signed copy is one, and circulating them among his friends to ensure that the poem would not go unnoticed. Poe read the poem in lectures in Richmond and sold it, along with “The Bells,” to Sartain’s Union Magazine of Literature and Art for publication. However, it was first printed in the New-York Daily Tribune on October 9, 1849, only two days after the poet’s death, rushed into print by Rufus Griswold, who had received a copy for later inclusion in the tenth edition of The Poets and Poetry of America. Although at least four of Poe’s women friends claimed to have inspired “Annabel Lee,” the poet’s real motivation may be a reflection of his continued mourning for his wife, Virginia, who died two years earlier. (via Columbia.edu)

I am constantly tired, and sleep isn’t helping. My eyes could be closed for hours at a time, yet in those hours I’d be grappling with the idea of maybes and almosts and nevers and will I’s, and there’s a constant quiver in my heart, worrying about my own apathy…

I haven’t been able to write in a while.

At first I thought falling in love meant falling into your arms, but that didn’t hold up for very long. Your arms eventually caught someone else, and so I had to change my definition to fit anyone. Well, not just anyone —someone new. So now, falling in love means smiling eyes and warm hands and connections that run just below my skin so the blush of my cheeks matches the red of your lips after we kiss.

So far, I haven’t yet fallen in love again.

The night envelopes me in a way which the day cannot. In the day, you’re just so exposed, you see everything —everything sees you. But with the darkness the setting sun brings, it’s as if a blanket is hung around my shoulders and over my head, relatively hidden.

——

I’m not even gone and I miss you. All of you. There’s a hollowness in my gut, and stinging at my eyes.