Summer sweet, some forgiven
Your advice is all that seems to matter much to me
Is it the tapestry set beneath my wings?
Sometimes a poem tells me, ‘No. No. I do not want to be written right now.’ And I understand. I am a patient lover.
—N. Waheed (via larmoyante)
This is the last time.
There it goes.
The universe wants to fatten him up.
For a moment again he can see this now, how generous the universe is with him. It is showering him with moments the way Greek gods once showered mortals with gold in order to seduce them. The seductions always worked. Nothing persuades homo sapiens quite like excess, abundance, the promise of more. …Out loud he whispers the universe is generous but his wife does not stir. He congratulates himself for being so enlightened. He is knee-deep in the old husks of spent moments. He is the wealthiest man alive.
—Sunshine O’Donnell, “Consumption” (via oysterbunnies)
So the more things remain the same, the more they change after all- plus c’est la même chose, plus ça change. Nothing endures, not a tree, not love, not even a death by violence.
—John Knowles, A Separate Peace (via loyalorderofthebassethounds)
Leaving is not enough. You must stay gone. Train your heart like a dog. Change the locks even on the house he’s never visited. You lucky, lucky girl. You have an apartment just your size. A bathtub full of tea. A heart the size of Arizona, but not nearly so arid. Don’t wish away your cracked past, your crooked toes, your problems are papier mache puppets you made or bought because the vendor at the market was so compelling you just had to have them. You had to have him. And you did. And now you pull down the bridge between your houses, you make him call before he visits, you take a lover for granted, you take a lover who looks at you like maybe you are magic. Make the first bottle you consume in this place a relic. Place it on whatever altar you fashion… Don’t lose too much weight. Stupid girls are always trying to disappear as revenge. And you are not stupid. You loved a man with more hands than a parade of beggars, and here you stand. Heart like a four-poster bed. Heart like a canvas. Heart leaking something so strong they can smell it in the street.
The Weeknd ft. Drake- The Zone
So let me sip this slow
I’ll give you what you called for
Just let me get in my zone
I’ll be making love to her through you
So let me keep my eyes closed
And I won’t see a damn thing
I can’t feel a damn thing
(Source: , via serendipitousromance)