Art and love are the same thing: It’s the process of seeing yourself in things...– Chuck Klosterman
Can you really discover someone in a sea of minutes and moments when it takes a journey and a lifetime to discover ourselves? Do you really see them or do you paint a portrait with their words and the colors you choose to perceive through? Maybe that’s what happens when love ends. Maybe its just the colors fading, leaving the truth, in black and white.
in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make– the beatles
when she woke, the blooms that grew under her pillow had dried, leaving blue vein-like vines sprouting from the withered remains like a sapphire fountain from stone. they coiled around her like a suffocating embrace. twisted into every opening. after she felt smothered with fear, she was filled to the brim with peace. a new tide with every breath. and when she slept, the bluest of blooms grew...
sometimes it lives in the creases of skin in the shortness of breath and crawls between the ridges left in bedsheets i want the passion that dwells in dreams the kind that sleeps on the ends of a paintbrush and falls from the corners of kind lips
why not go out on a limb? that’s where the fruit is– mark twain
nobody has ever measured, not even poets, how much the heart can hold.– Zelda Fitzgerald
she’s mad, but she’s magic. there’s no lie in her fire.– charles bukowski
re-imagine your needs. remove yourself from chaos. nurture happiness.
it was because those eyes warmed the turbulent sea in her heart and made it...
Crying does not indicate that you are weak. Since birth, it has always been a...– Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre
I plucked out the dream and made a boat for it to sail upon. with a heavy heart I placed it gently on the surface of the sea i watched it dance further and further away from me feeling it tugging roughly at my strings until they unwravelled into a pile of color within me. a deconstructed soul as it melted into the distance of the horizon, i smiled. the dream was sure to find a home and...
you are like a little piece of home. the stainglass window that painted color on my cheeks, even on the rainiest of days. the sounds of birds mumbling of hope in the pine trees- whose arms stretched and tangled like an embrace above my roof. the scent of the night blooms that filled my lungs with beautiful warmth. you remind me of them. and they remind me of you.
would you let me build you a landscape?mountains covered in velvet. a star filled ocean crashing around islands of opalescent sand and trees so tall their honey flavored leaves fall like birds and melt into light around us. the sun bathing our skin in dreams and coloring our imagination with impossible moments and beauty beyond limits. teach me how to fly, with you and sometimes away so i can...
wings come in different forms some are opalescent mists with iron veins others streaks of rainbows raining from bone. mine change form every season. they are the rain in the fall. flowers in spring. and often they are woven with golden threads of your dreams and your words they paint the sky with light like shooting stars filling it with wishes once again for young hearts to wish upon for tired...
i close my eyes as the night takes me into a mist. through it i can see a shadow approaching. it starts to take form, as i blink out the preconception from my eyes i see a train. an option to move forward, to move on. it rolls to a stop in front of me. i take my first steps into tomorrow, knowing it’ll lead me to an endless parade of smiles. everything smells of a garden. a scent so rich,...