nib-ling

[nib-ling]

You could be my silver spring...

[nib-ling]

"I'm the trouble ahead, and I scream in my sleep. Puttin' money on red, I'm a sure bet at a losing streak. And I keep showing you doors, but you can't open them up; it gets harder to see me the closer you try to look."

[nib-ling]

Lol this illness is feeling a lot less chronic and a lot more terminal lately

[nib-ling]

saw the old man for the first time since i left

he just kept hugging me; he's not what I'd consider a large man, but he seems like it when he's got his arms around me

"I just miss you so much" of course I cried

"I miss you too, kid"

We exchanged gifts even though it's his birthday, of course everyone else at the shop forgot

Of course they all wanted to say hi too, but in the cross wires it was just us

Talking shit, talking about the future

I showed him the tattoos I gave myself of the walnuts he gave me,

Little nothing things he picked up in his yard

He didn't even make fun of me for it

I wish it was always this easy to bridge too much silence, easy as one person saying "it's been enough. Let's pick up where we left off."

[nib-ling]

Tell me how I'm supposed to see the magic

cause I don't believe in it no more

[nib-ling]

“My anxiety is the third person in this relationship– the familiar face my lover never agreed to. And I don’t know what to say other than I’m sorry. This body is a fist that forgot how to loosen its grip. This body is a fire alarm of false pretenses and he spends so much time waving the smoke away. I think he believes I love her more than him– we’re with each other all the time. I know I need to let her go, but I’ve never been good with breakups.”

— Schuyler Peck, Breaking Up With Anxiety (via schuylerpeck)

[nib-ling]

“Hush. The wolves. The wolves, I tell you, they are there. There, there, inside my head.”

— Gertrud Kolmar, tr. by Michael Hamburger, from “The Old Woman,”

[nib-ling]

can't bear to think about it,

can't help but remember every single detail

[nib-ling]

what i wouldn't give to be able to introduce my two favorite florida men to each other

it's uncanny really, how deeply alike you two are, with your birthdays so close

you both make the same face when your feelings are hurt but you're trying to be tough about it

just skater boys and street rats, all grown up, both always able to see straight through me

i wonder how many times you passed each other on that florida beach, i wonder if he knew your mom and dad, how it can be that he lived in the same town, 8 minutes away

i wonder what it means that you both found your way to me, eventually

[nib-ling]

morning ghosts make some (quiet) noise

schuylerpeck / instagram: hiitssky

[nib-ling]

🌹 Belgique horticole. Liége.

[nib-ling]

fatima aamer bilal, excerpt from moony moonless sky’s ‘i am an observer, but not by choice.’

[text id: my fist has always been clenched around the handle of an invisible suitcase. / i am always ready to leave. / there is not a single room in this world where i belong.]

[nib-ling]

It was a long time ago. It doesn't matter anymore. And yet I cannot let it go. I cannot let it go.

Sylvia Plath

[nib-ling]

"I admit, I desire, occasionally, some backtalk from the mute sky"

— Sylvia Plath, from The Collected Poems, Black Rook in Rainy Weather (via @petaltexturedskies)

[nib-ling]

“I wanted to be where nobody I knew could ever come.”

— Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar (via wordsnquotes)