Write his name onto a piece of paper until both sides are full and
the letters could be a part of anyone’s name.
Write his name until they are just letters with no meaning. It will be difficult to see why you loved that combination of vowels and syllables so much.
When you begin to
remember, burn it.
The most commonly recited phrase is probably “…but I thought you were different.”
And that’s because we have a tendency to idealize people, to feed on only appealing qualities and ignore hints of the bad. So basically from the beginning we’re building relationships based on very convoluted perceptions. You literally did think he or she was different because you blinded yourself to anything that didn’t fit your prototypical expectations and longings. And that can only lead to disappointment.
Human relationships are very peculiar. You meet a stranger, you share secrets, vulnerabilities, intimacies, then both part as strangers. It’s a cyclic tragedy.
I am not the first person you loved.
You are not the first person I looked at
with a mouthful of forevers. We
have both known loss like the sharp edges
of a knife. We have both lived with lips
more scar tissue than skin. Our love came
unannounced in the middle of the night.
Our love came when we’d given up
on asking love to come. I think
that has to be part
of its miracle.
This is how we heal.
I will kiss you like forgiveness. You
will hold me like I’m hope. Our arms
will bandage and we will press promises
between us like flowers in a book.
I will write sonnets to the salt of sweat
on your skin. I will write novels to the scar
of your nose. I will write a dictionary
of all the words I have used trying
to describe the way it feels to have finally,
finally found you.
And I will not be afraid
of your scars.
I know sometimes
it’s still hard to let me see you
in all your cracked perfection,
but please know:
whether it’s the days you burn
more brilliant than the sun
or the nights you collapse into my lap
your body broken into a thousand questions,
you are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
I will love you when you are a still day.
I will love you when you are a hurricane.
You know when you’ve become so comfortable with someone that their name just rolls off your brain’s tongue without reason or purpose but then they disappear from your life and you’re still left with that name propagating itself through your mind? Yeah, that.
… And in the end, we were all just humans. Drunk on the idea that love, only love, could heal our brokenness.
Sometimes it’s not the butterflies that tell you you’re in love, but the pain.
The less you reveal the more you appeal.
I’m obsessed with past lovers;
treating my memories of them as resources for my soul’s sustenance, anxiously searching for self worth by siphoning whatever’s remaining and putting it back inside of me like a tainted blood transfusion,
remembering me, the person that was willing to give up everything
and ended up with less and less each time.
I feel like growing up is just the process of losing pieces of yourself and wisdom is bliss in utter cluelessness of not knowing anything at all.
i spent this afternoon watching placebo on mtv.
on my way back from anyer, i met brian molko on every crossroad.
he kept vanishing. as his after-image resembles you.
just wondering. it’s been a while. i hope u’re doin okay.
perhaps we’ll meet in another crossroad. perhaps we walk our way back home alone. just, by another chance, i’ll be playing my guitar, searching for any voice who fits my song. by now, i’m happy for what i’ve got. but we never know what’s waiting for us.
i’m just a retarded motherfucker, in a garden of flower.
i eat what suit me the most, and smoke those which taste the worst.
by the time, i found you, another cowboy was teasing on you.
so i seek for another, i thought nothing could be better
is it my fault?
good luck, sunflower.