this is the sound the mother makes when the baby breaks.
the medicine tastes just as bitter as the ailment
There really just isn’t a beautiful way to put this. All the love and warmth resigned with one reluctant and vaguely familiar move. It was all cold, hard, desperation and a blood-inked tissue. My dog laps up the confusion off my cheek and curls up next to me. I’m okay with the outcome of my dreams now- traveling alone is better than with the company of a new stranger in an old face, anyhow.
i can hear my heart raining
And I am totally afraid of how undeniably permanent the sum of the parts are. My toes curl, my thighs are cold, and my eyelids are sinking. I know how to make it better, but I don’t know why I can’t. I clearly don’t know what to do with a poison cup.
back to the winter (and it’s not so bad)
Books are piling up again, and perhaps for the last time in a long time. They are daunting and haunting and full of the answers to the only things I need to know. I only need to know the systems of logic, not the expressionless nuances of his eyes when I tell him in a loud bar, you’re right, I love him. I only need to know morphology and syntax, and forget about the numbing, dreadfully boring blue that I’ve been wearing like a sweater these days. I can smile with a bow in my childlike cello arms and curl into my tea and create the warmth I want to have, if only I can lend myself a little more than nothing.
siren song for the deaf and dumb
And there he was, sitting on the floor next to me with that familiar smile. I knew it was a dream but I was afraid to speak. I ran my hands through his hair and whispered things I’ve concluded I should never say out loud. There are so many things I wish I could say, if only articulation alone was my only obstacle. But, if there is anything to be learned of doorway conversations with coffee breath and weak knees, it is that my dreams often fail me. There is a line between the malleability of my imagination and the permanence of my actions over the last two years that had kept me moving in complete trepidation.
I keep my eyes transfixed on the dying sun, pierced by the Argentine skyline and hushed by the sounds of buses and drunk men and small, white apartment-dogs. I listen to the neighbors scream and laugh and peer down their balconies at all the other apartment balconies and decide that fear is the only thing I have to lose, once and for all.
It took all this time to see how strong my footsteps were, when all I had to do was wake the sullen giants in there and make up my mind. Sleep is as useless as words, for it rarely mends my heart into anything more than a shape I can almost tolerate. I have no idea where to go from here, as this is a place that maps could never navigate.
but this is supposed to be heaven
I’ve done it. I’ve ripped that loose tooth out and now am left to bleed it out and flood the streets that I swore could only belong to myself, not anybody else. I swore that every tree, every kiosko, every forlorn dog shit, was just for myself and nobody else.
But it’s not the same, this isn’t the place it used to be. I took all of its beauty away when I returned, and now it’s a mere stranger. I keep wondering what the hell is wrong with me, why can’t I keep it together, but I can’t, I just can’t. I keep walking past monumental mistakes and landmarks of smiles I forgot how to crack. My silver tinsel Christmas tree glows from the corner of my room, throbbing on and off, slowly. The city seems oddly quiet, more quiet than I’ve ever noticed, tonight. Buenos Aires was never mine, at least not solely. I’ve really done it this time, and for what, I don’t know.
in true fashion
I wish there was a way to put it plainly. But, it exists in between my ribcage and my eye sockets and it contracts my muscles until they quiver the things I should never say. I have never lived fear like I do these days, and I have never understood loneliness the way I do when I ride my relic bike down the street, trying to crunch the leaves under its wheels like a video game. My thoughts are in chaos and I find that little is a reliable truth. It’s quiet and everything trembles with confusion. Only one hell of a thesaurus could save me now.
there are so many lessons that i just never cared to learn.
what kind of fool am i
It’s your decided apathy and dead silence. I suppose this is one way to do it, or at least one way to make it clear. Nothing is sadder than hatred, with the exception of aloof silence. Vulnerability is a dying flower I won’t tend to for long. But, you are right. We are strangers, after all.
bongwutsi asked: you are SO LOVELY! you have no idea how happy that message made me :3 I can't wait to see that pwetty face of yours, only a little over 2 months from now! yay! <3
Gahh! I can’t wait!!! I’m going to give you the biggest hug in life. The countdown has started!! xx