I’ve never actually said it out loud, but I’ve thought of it. I’ve thought that maybe I can no longer do this - be with you. It has crossed my mind and I felt awful. I still feel awful about it. For a minute I thought I was bored and you told me if I ever felt bored that I should tell you. I should never string you along. I was, for a minute doing just that. I felt like I was inhabiting your bad habits. I hated myself. I hated my situation; I hated yours. I thought I was trapped. I thought I was simply complacent. It was only for a minute but I know you felt it. I know you saw it in my eyes when I yelled at you or when I cried in the car for absolutely no reason. Then the minute was gone and I saw you clearly. I realized then I had someone who cared for me and in the minutes after, the only problem I saw was myself. My real love was right in front of me. I realized then that I could do this - we could do this. And then the doubt was gone.
Everything has pockets; some are not sewn, some are held inside the skin.
My skull has a brain and inside the brain
is a pocket filled with a heart that’s thinking of you.
Today, my apartment is a single-room jail cell filled with all the cells of me
that once craved the cells of you, the…
Brett Amory: "Waiting"
“The painting series entitled “Waiting” depicts the urban individual’s yearning for presence and the seeming impossibility of attaining it. The paintings portray commuters in transit immersed in either a quiet, even hopeful state or, alternately, an anguish of unfulfilled anticipation.”
(Source: k-a-t-r-i-n-a-13, via focloir)
Season the floor with your tears and the kind of sobs that stick in the throat.
Harvest the remaining salt from the floorboards
and send it to his door inside a Mason jar, with instructions to open
upon feeling heartbreak or loneliness.
Count every bruise and birthmark that happen to fall