My Hair Was Wet And Tangled, My Clothes Stuck To Me Like A Second Skin. Your Hands Were Reaching For

feeling blue. like I tried to reach for something, something I felt my bones pop out of their sockets for, and it never existed in the first place. my nerve endings twisted around your name, my body tangled in your half empty desires. feeling like I’m drowning in the what ifs and unanswered questions. like. am I that easy to forget. did you ever really love me. was any of that real. were the last 8 months really that fucking empty. what a horrible mess we made, blue eyed boy. our love, a graveyard of everything we once promised each other

we found a park bench that fit us perfectly, with our initials etched into it. no kidding. seems like the universe foretold our love before we even knew it existed. and it sounds stupid but what are the chances? anyway, one always tends to romanticise everyday objects when in love.

and it’s beautiful, the way the love I have for you rises and bubbles in my throat, tainting everything with its sweetness. the way that park bench isn’t the same if you’re not there. the way that river by your place reminds me of your whirlpool blue eyes. the way wok noodles don’t taste as good if we’re not eating it together, laughing and sharing the same fork.

in summer, we buy milkshakes and listen to music, lying on each other on the bench. in winter, we cuddle into his big jacket, shivering and sharing a cup of overpriced hot chocolate. a park bench that weathered storms and lifetimes and hundreds of strangers, etched with our love from before we even met. before I fell in love with you. before you first kissed me.

crazy, huh?

Men hold up a baby saved from a pile of rubble. Damascus, Syria, 2014

lover, breathe with me in between all the seconds. the slow rise and fall of your rib cage, and the quiet hum of your pulse underneath crumpled bedsheets. spill your lifeline between those saccharin lips onto my body. time spent apart and together, sighing in the bathtub with our naked bodies and glasses of wine. kiss me here and here and here darling. turn my body into a love letter, sign your name onto my inner thigh.

↳ 3:27 AM — L.G.C.

I hate everyone else in the world but you.

Euphoria (2019)

tender quotes:

1.  “The number of hours we have together is actually not so large. Please linger near the door uncomfortably instead of just leaving. Please forget your scarf in my life and come back later for it.” (mikko harvey, from “for m,”)

2.  “I still feel like the world is a piece of bread, I’m holding out half to you.” (eileen myles)

3. “Wherever you are it’s okay. You can come back from it. Whatever happened to you down there, whatever the world looks like now, that’s not how it always looks. That’s not how it’s always going to look. There’s more. There’s always more.” (patrick ness, from “more than this”)

4.  “I was making dinner and I got a message. Go look outside, she said, go look at the sunset. My apartment is small, with four rooms and two windows that don’t see much light so I had no idea. I pulled my coat on and hurried out. I was running to this sunset, suddenly the only thing that mattered. I hurried past the taller buildings to the park and the sky was leaking shades of pink and purple. It was beautiful and fleeting, there one minute and gone the next. I would’ve missed it; I almost kissed it. And so I started thinking, how great it would be to get a nudge, a tap on your shoulder, a moment or two before your life changes. Stop what you’re doing and look around, you’ll want to remember this later. In a minute, you’re going to fall in love.” (kelsey danielle, from “unexpected sunset”)

5.  “Today is a day like any other: twenty-four hours, a little sunshine, a little rain. Listen, says ambition, nervously shifting her weight from one boot to another―why don’t you get going? For there I am, in the mossy shadows, under the trees. And to tell the truth I don’t want to let go of the wrists of idleness, I don’t want to sell my life for money, I don’t even want to come in out of the rain.” (mary oliver, from “black oaks”)

altogether too empty to really quite exist. not pretty enough to make people stop and stare but just attractive enough to make a boy fall for the spark in my eyes. I feel like half a person, a waxing gibbous moon. had the potential to be something wonderful. don’t want to be normal or ordinary but I really am nothing special. that’s the curse of living I guess. you gotta live with the fact that you won’t be an elvis or a bowie or a keats.

Forough Farrokhzad, from Another Birth: Selected Poems of F. F.; “In The Dark,”