If We Find Ourselves With A Desire That Nothing In This World Can Satisfy, The Most Probable Explanation

If we find ourselves with a desire that nothing in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that we were made for another world.

C.S. Lewis

More Posts from B-luish and Others

b-luish

1 month ago

I can’t stop thinking about this poem today.

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b-luish

1 month ago

What If We Were Two Touching Stars In Minecraft.... And Our Creators Made Sure That We Would Stay Together

What if we were two touching stars in Minecraft.... and our creators made sure that we would stay together even when fate tries to tear us apart.........

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b-luish

1 month ago

You ever think you could cry so hard
that there’d be nothing left in you, like
how the wind shakes a tree in a storm
until every part of it is run through with
wind? I live in the low parts now, most
days a little hazy with fever and waiting
for the water to stop shivering out of the
body. Funny thing about grief, its hold
is so bright and determined like a flame,
like something almost worth living for.

after the fire by Ada Limón

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b-luish

1 month ago

In the un-story
of my life
I am three years old
and my father
lifts me
into the air

and then catches
me again and again,
pulling me into him.
Or

I am thirteen
years old and my father
sits on the porch
with his arm around

me and says yes, yes,
look, everything
will be fine, I’m here.
In the un-story

he has his ties
and pressed shirts
hanging in
the closet next to

my mother’s blouses.
The smell of his

cologne washes over
everything like a pot roast
roasting all
Sunday. But in the story
of my life my father’s
sons have to

call him again
and again and again
and again
like small children

hitting a drum
they can’t stop hitting.
They have to beg
for his attention,
and one even dies,
in his way, for him,

and like life, is buried
without him.

In the story
of my life I inherit
the fathers
of other kids, other
sons. How lucky
am I?

Fathers with names
like Joseph,
Yosef, Josiah, Yasef,
meaning he will add.
Meaning he will
lift you up and catch you.
Meaning he will
sit with you, and your
sorrow will be his
too. Fathers with names

like Ernie, Ernest, Ernesto,
Arnošt, meaning kindness.
Meaning he will walk
among the lepers

of your actions
and listen to them.

Meaning he will not fail you
even as you fail yourself.
Right now dusk is moving
around the house

like a bad babysitter
waiting for her boyfriend
to come over, re-applying
her eyeliner. Outside
some coyotes are lighting
up the air like teenagers.
Meanwhile in the story
of my life

I lift my three-
year-old up into the air

and then catch
him but also catch

myself. In the story of
my life I put
my arm around
my thirteen-year-old

But also around
myself. When I feed
them I feed
myself. When I cool
a fevered forehead
with a cold

rag I cool my own
anger. When I leave
I also return to them
and return

to myself. I know
there are

really three children
in the story of my life.
I must make a home
for each of them.

father by Matthew Dickman

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b-luish

1 month ago

Ada Limón, “To Be Made Whole”, On Being with Krista Tippett

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b-luish

1 month ago

it’s kinda fucked up that you’re only an age for a year. I didn’t know how to be 23 yet, let me try again

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b-luish

1 month ago

- 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚣𝚊𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚑 𝚜.

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b-luish

1 month ago

[ID: my love, there will always be grief, / but there will be days where I can hold hands with it / days where i can lay flowers at its feet]

Ghost Of My Ghosts, Sol Rios

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b-luish

1 month ago

Joy Sullivan, from "Long Division", Instructions for Traveling West

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b-luish

1 month ago

The legacies people leave behind in you.

My handwriting is the same style as the teacher’s who I had when I was nine. I’m now twenty one and he’s been dead eight years but my i’s still curve the same way as his.

I watched the last season of a TV show recently but I started it with my friend in high school. We haven’t spoken in four years.

I make lentil soup through the recipe my gran gave me.

I curl my hair the way my best friend showed me.

I learned to love books because my father loved them first.

How terrifying, how excruciatingly painful to acknowledge this. That I am a jigsaw puzzle of everyone I have briefly known and loved. I carry them on with me even if I don’t know it. How beautiful.

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