December 2011
136 posts
A very happy new year’s to all of you, my darlings. I hope 2012 is all you’ve ever wished for it to be and I hope there are kisses and warm beverages and all the things you like. I hope the beautiful words never stop pouring forth from your fingers and your souls. Goodnight.
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Anonymous asked: Oh dear, please help me. Everything I write down just seems silly; in my mind, before pen touches paper, everything sounds fine but as soon as I go to write down, ideas and feelings evaporate, leaving me feeling lonely and desperate. How can I overcome this? The words leave me when I desperately want them to stay. I need to express myself, but the words just run away before I get a chance to hold...
Anonymous asked: You are amazing.
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“For last year’s word belong to last year’s language
And next year’s words await...”
– T. S. Eliot, from Section II of Quartet no. 4 “Little Gidding”, in Four Quartets (with thanks to apoetreflects)
dearyou-loveme asked: Dear You, I love your writing. Love Me
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2011 to remember: Drinking too much coffee. Crying at sitcoms. Breaking down. Cinnamon and pots of tea. Falling back in love with words. Meeting new people. Harry Potter. Realising that childhood is as nebulous as every other thing in the world. Reading too many novels. Romance. Heartbreak. Zahra. Being Nobody’s Girl. The Book Thief. Natasha. Painting words onto my walls. Sticking roses onto...
siftingflour:
mitford: via rabbitinthemoon:
So much of her time spent like this: dreaming up things to say and never quite saying them. — C. McCann
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Anonymous asked: Dear J, as I lay here tonight I wish to see you right here right underneath my skin that melts with yours as we whisk and dance our fingers away. Today we were to make our years of kisses and the seduces of our love. Your gone, you've disappered to the bottom of the roses beneathe it lies your ashes. With it all you still grow, right with the roses and onto me. Today I miss you, as I close...
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“I like people too much or not at all. I’ve got to go down deep, to fall...”
– Sylvia Plath
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wishihadametalheart asked: Just wanted to let you know that your tumblr is my absolute favorite. The way you write amazes me and inspires me. I actually started posting up some of my own writing on my tumblr just because I didn't want to be afraid of posting personal stuff anymore, since you seem to do it with ease, it's awesome! Anyway, I'm just in awe of your writing. You seem so interesting. Lol, sorry if...
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Patchwork feelings
Isn’t it strange how sometimes we love people so hard that we can see that emotion slithering in and out of their skin? When they bite their lips, the teeth marks left behind are not their own and when they fall and scrape their knees, their mother’s tears coat the ground. There’s something so tangible in what we feel for them that it becomes its own living breathing entity. I’ve walked past...
Winter is in a frightful mood tonight. I stand, trembling in my corner, akin to a soaking kitten watching him with wary eyes. He is tearing through the novels on my shelf, ripping them into pieces and shredding the words and killing the emotions. There are snarls building in his throat and his hands and the base of his throat are covered in a thick layer of ice. There are icicles in his eyes and...
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mols:
The problem is, if I think you’re about to hurt me, I won’t just pull away, I’ll disappear. No questions, no confrontation, no explanation, not a peep. I’ll just disappear. And you’ll be left wondering what the hell happened, where did you — where did we — when did everything go so wrong.
“What was more, they had taken the first step towrd genuine friendship. They had...”
– Arthur C. Clarke (via pavorst)
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seafoamchild asked: What sort of animal would you be? Why? Who would your friends be? (Your blog is very lovely)
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The Stealer of Stars
I’d learned you by the time Christmas came around, though you were no less of a mystery to me. I knew to identify the timbres of your voice because they were wood and ash and cinnamon curling against the confines of a milk curdled sky. The corner of your mouth tasted like chocolate and coffee and smoke and you were as nebulous as a cloud but I could reach for you whenever. You were a roaring fire...
feille asked: Tag, you’re it! Here are the rules: Each tagged person must post ten things about themselves. You have to choose and tag ten people. Go to their blogs and tell them you tagged them :) No tag back!
“I cannot remember the books I’ve read any more than the meals I have eaten; even...”
– Ralph Waldo Emerson (via kaleidoscopedreams)
A list of wonderful fictional men:
Hans Hubermann.
Atticus Finch.
Rudy Steiner.
Mr Darcy
Jace Wayland.
Neville Longbottom.
Dylan.
Mr Rochester
Heathcliff
Anonymous asked: I would like to thank you, for showing me what I've been looking for for so long.
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“Everybody leaves.”
Those were my signature words, when I knew less than I know now about human nature. I’d blow them into kisses and post them into envelopes, I sent them to people with my heartfelt sentiments. I’d put crosses on the front of paper, irony. I knew them so well that they were pasted in big bold lettersbehind the screen of my retina. EVERYBODY LEAVES...
“Why won’t you ever tell me what you feel?”
He was trembling like Mount Vesuvius, boiling underneath with a molten fury that made him dangerous. I would have seen maroon anger in his eyes if I looked too hard and I must have closed my lids in fear.
He was shaking me by the shoulders until my teeth rattled and emotions spilled out of my body and painted the air around us....
Perched on a moon rock skipping stones into space. I’ve run out of things to do.
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To My Formerly Dear Friend. Submitted by...
I trusted you with many a thing. With silly, young girl secrets, leaving my tongue on the dying breath of a laugh, and with the tales of my life, a life that has barely gasped it’s first pure breaths since leaving the dark mysteriousness of the unconscious womb.The lines oozed something less blasé than torrid stories of teenage angst. The words that twisted into flowers when I spoke in the...
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The weight of a human soul:
21 grams.
He’d balanced pieces of silver soul on scales and watched how it dipped in the middle, changed substances and grew into shapes that weren’t in the dictionary. He’d sent letters to Oxford and pleaded for an ear. Hands were tainted with emotion that he couldn’t wash away. Eyebrows furrowed in concentration, he handled soul delicately with his scientist hands. It...
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“Hopefully, when you are young you discover something called love, which is...”
– Francesca Lia Block. (The Waters and The Wild)
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When you ask for Sorry
He’d been sitting down when I first saw him, perched on a rock with his eyes towards the sky. There was a frown marring his features, which was better than cheeriness because sometimes I thought he looked like a clown when he smiled too hard. He stood like the gentleman that he was when he saw my approach but the eyes that met mine were only thinly disguised with impatience. Not gentlemanly...
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“You can’t eat books, sweetheart.”
– Markus Zusak, The Book Thief (via wintersbones)