Whats-in-a-username

At that point in my life where I FINALLY understand why people cry when they hear certain songs.

Exhibit A:

John Green; Paper Towns

“Literature is a luxury; fiction is a necessity.”

—

G.K. Chesterton

#it feels like home

i broke into ur brain just to call u out in this quiz (but in a soft way). how does it feel to be loved by u?

I Never Could

With a shy smile and a dusty guitar

You sing me a song about rainy afternoons

You close your eyes and get lost in the lines

Leaving me envious

Of the words that left your lips

And those strings under your fingertips

I want to reach out, hold your hand

Instead, I hold myself back

Try not to break the spell

But you pull me close, hold me tight

Between now and then, I give up the fright.

It's not a fireworks-and-butterflies kiss.

Instead, it feels more like a sea breeze

And coming home

I peek a glance to see that your eyes

Are closed the way you do when you sing your lines.

Your arms wrap me from behind,

Your head on my shoulder, breath on my neck.

You hum a song

That we claimed as ours, like a wind in my ears.

This time around, it's your guitar that's left envious.

I kiss your freckles, scars, and moles.

And wonder how the songs could leave your lips

Because I never could.

Finding that one scene in a book that you love to read again and again because you just can’t get over it is the best part of reading in my opinion

pret-endings

I fear I cannot give us a happy ending,

So I'll write us one. A "pret-ending"

A future where you get poems written for you

Because words are my "old, new, borrowed, and blue."

An ending in which our days begin together.

Mondays where I whine about the weather,

Tuesday mornings with a cup of tea,

I complain about a colleague, and you say, "How dare she!"

We'll make a pact to meet halfway

To have lunch together on Wednesdays.

Thursdays are for you to decide

Because I can't find anything to rhyme. I tried.

Fridays, we watch a movie or a show.

Flip a coin, heads I win- tails you lose. Let it go.

Weekends that I spend hearing you sing

Or sit and stare at you while you do your own thing.

We play a lot of rock-paper-scissors,

And the loser gets to chase away the lizards.

We fight over reading a book or watching the sundown

I look at you, watching the last rays shine, and put my book down.

Save me when I try to burn our kitchen

I'll do the dishes if you cook the chicken.

I'll watch you fall asleep

And talk you through your bad dreams.

Wake me up after your walk

You know how much I hate alarm clocks.

If wishes and boons were true

I'd trade the Midas touch for you.

As long as we cannot have of our happy ending,

I'll keep on writing us a pret-ending.

I used to curl up close to my bedroom wall,

hide under my blanket and hug my knees to my chest

Hoping, if there was a demon under my bed

it couldn't reach me.

Now I sleep on the other end

And when the night is darkest

I reach out under my bed

Hoping the demon under my bed

would hold me.

Tell me tales until I fall asleep, I say.

When it responds

I notice our voice sounds similar.

Hoarse and scratchy from the lack of use.

Hands cold and rough like it's filled with papercuts.

There are other demons, you know? Inside my head, I say.

They're not as kind as you.

They keep me up at night and keep me spiraling in the morning.

How do I get rid of them?

It considers, and as my consciousness starts to slip, it answers

Be kind to yourself as you're to me.

💫🧡

“Whatever causes night in your soul may leave stars.”

— Victor Hugo