tournesol-traveler - Tumblr blog

[tournesol-traveler]

the unexpected eclipse

Tonight I discovered what it means to be drunk in love. It started as a normal night, greeting you under the street lights as you pressed me into my car with a kiss. I savored the feeling of your arm cradling the small of my back, as I wrapped you in tighter and planted dozens of kisses on your cheek and neck. 

You invited me inside and we sat on your bed, sharing stories from the day and getting lost in each others’ voices. I admit, love, that I lost focus on your words a few times as I watched your perfect lips and sparkling eyes. We couldn’t keep our hands off each other, sitting as close as we possibly could, and randomly tracing our hands on each others’ backs, thighs, and faces. 

The next part of this story becomes a blur, as somehow we sink into an ocean of intimacy and warmth. I close my eyes and try to recall what happened, but all that comes up are intense feelings, loving words and those gorgeous chocolate eyes. I laid my head on your chest, rising and falling with your breath, and you tell me how it is so easy to picture our future with this vision of me. We talk about the future together without even realizing how big our smiles are. 

The next thing I remember is me laying even closer to you, the tips of our noses just inches from each other, and you ask me, “What are you doing to me?” I don’t notice how big my smile is or how my eyes are telling you how much I love you, better than I could ever put into words. Your compliments of my beauty fill me with such gratitude and joy, that I have no other response than to lean in and kiss you gently. You call me the most beautiful girl in the world, and for the first time here with you, I really believe it. 

We fall into each other again, closer than ever, and make promises to each other as you kiss my neck and press your cheek, soft as silk, into mine. You move your perfect lips to my ear and whisper in the softest, most tender voice how you will always love and take care of me. You tell me your visions of the future and how someday, this is how we will end every day. I become so overwhelmed by this feeling that tears roll down my cheeks and I gasp for breath. You calmly pull me in tighter and assure me again how you will always be right here.

I will never forget so many of the things you said to me tonight, but one sunk so deep into my heart that I’m sure it will be on my mind for days to come. I cried into your arms how I ached for this moment and how it was going to end, and you remind me, “These moments wouldn’t be so special if we had them all the time.” I pause a moment to take this in, and marvel at how right you are. These times, however fleeting, stay with me forever and fill my thoughts and daydreams. No matter how far I am from you, you have taken over my mind and heart, and I could never forget the moments that make our love the most beautiful thing in the world. 

[tournesol-traveler]

the third of july

I was practically shaking as I walked in the door, clutching your hand and pursing my lips in a tight smile. As I stepped into the room, full of warm laughter and music, I felt my shoulders relax a little. 

Shake a hand here, smile at someone there, and try to remember the names of the friendly men at the table, all clad in Hawaiian shirts. I stuck by your side in this unfamiliar yet warm environment, yearning to belong in this group of people who seemed to have known each other their entire lives. 

Finally, I slipped into a conversation with some curious and extroverted kids. I answered their questions and felt fondness bubble up inside of me. They were so open to me, a stranger whom they had barely heard of, and treated me as a part of their group. 

You got up from your place beside me, and I was surprised that instead of feeling anxious and alone, I felt welcome in my new group of friends. I watched you up in front of the small crowd, playing like you do when you’re alone in your bedroom as your fingers slide effortlessly over the strings. I sang along with the happy partygoers as they sipped their drinks and muttered their compliments. Pride swelled in my heart as I wondered for the millionth time how lucky I was to be yours.

It was announced that it was time for fireworks, and I felt a rush of kid-like excitement for this tradition that I’d never experienced. I stood in the street and watched the sparks, flashes, and flames. I felt ten years younger among a group that seemed so young at heart, oohing and ahhing at the display. You asked me if I wanted to light some, and I felt giddy as I ran from the sparkling fuses. Our arms wrapped around each other and I felt completely enveloped in this happy moment. 

Now as I lie in bed, I realize how badly I had missed what I had never even known. A neighborhood of true friends who enjoyed each others’ company and partook in good memories together. What they perceived as a normal, annual traditions, I appreciated as a night of child-like wonder and warmth, and a taste of what I’d been longing for my whole life. To be a happy kid with their happy family and friends, lighting stuff on fire and eating barbecue. 

The smell of smoke lingers in my hair, and pops of light remain in my vision as I close my eyes. I smile and bask in this lasting, warm feeling, realizing that even after all this time, you show me every day how great life is when we’re together.

[tournesol-traveler]

the world waits.

Today, I went for a walk. 

As I stepped from my porch onto the street, the sun peeked out from the clouds and its warmth bloomed and spread within me. The neighborhood, which once felt so small, was limitless and beautiful. The flowers in their beds were florescent in the bright sunlight. I wandered from house to house, noticing the empty swing under the old oak tree and the hand-painted stones that were nestled in the dirt beneath blossoming milkweed. 

Once, I had prayed for respite from the busyness of life, and now, this respite was dumped into my unwelcoming arms. The people and places I love and take for granted were stolen away from me, leaving me to sit, and wait, and hope, and miss.

I long for the touch of a friend as she laughs and braces herself on my shoulder. I long for a sea breeze to tangle my hair as I feel the warm sand and icy ocean between my toes. I long to be surrounded by rowdy classmates and listen to a friendly teacher. I long for the embrace of a teammate as we feel the rush of adrenaline after hard work comes to fruition. I long for the feeling of his heart beating against mine as we lay together in front of a heartwarming film. 

There is so much that I miss so dearly. 

This time feels like it has gone on forever, like nothing exists outside of the walls in which we lay idle. But stepping outside today, out of the bubble in which the world has been forced into, reminded me that the beauty of the world lies in wait for me to return. We are healing, we are growing, we are waiting. 

And the world is waiting for us. 

[tournesol-traveler]

the te matua ngahere forest

The air is rich with noise and mist in the Te Matua Ngahere Forest. Our shoes are slick against the wooden walkways built above the lush greenery. Our flashlights illuminate the path in front of us, the thick fog visible in the bright beams. I walk along the trail in the footsteps of thousands before me, travelers like myself who have let themselves become enraptured by the beauty and enchantment of the forest. Everything around me feels simply alive with energy and magic. Our warm breath mingles with the mist and dew as we talk and point out everything from the tiny saplings to the enormous kauri trees. As the twilight blue sky fades into darkness and the stars twinkle into view, I feel an immediate shift in the chilly air. Our guide stops us around the stump of a tree and begins to tell a Maori legend of warriors and spirits and gods. As i listen to the story, the forest comes to life. Through the words of the guide, I can hear the voices of the generations that told the story before him. The forest is alive with the voices of the past. Every rock, tree and bush are connected in this pulsing energy that envelops our group. We grow collectively quieter as we walk deeper into the forest, and our guide begins to sing an enchanting melody in the Maori native language. We approach the destination that we had come to see, the oldest and biggest tree in the forest. I stare up at its majesty in awe. The tree is thousands of years old, and has stood witness over our changing world, steady, strong, and sure. I think of the countless people who have been inspired by the energy and life that terms from every inch of this place, as I have. As I stand, drenched in the bright moonlight and enameled by the atmosphere, I feel as alive as the mist-shrouded forest itself.

[tournesol-traveler]

12:23pm, a recollection

how i wish to be lovely as you dream me to be, when the clouds whisk through branches & earth sings good morning,

how i yearn to breathe like that.

your throat calls me my neck outstretches & i jump knee-deep into a pool of you,

i can’t swim, yet your hands still.

how i crave a spot in the middle of your spine to hold you up & to bring me down

to a level of common tongue.

when love stops pouring, i’ll be right there to open my ribs one by one & listen for the sound of your voice in my head,

don’t stop now, it’s only us.

[tournesol-traveler]

the gleaming girl of a thousand pieces

She is a puzzle of a thousand tiny pieces, making an indelible picture. Every tribulation, heartbreak, success, defeat, and decision carefully pieced together into a perfect picture. 

Her puzzle has been broken down many times. She has been moved, pushed, broken, and torn. But each and every time, she picks up her pieces and one by one puts herself back together again. Each and every time her picture is a little bit brighter, a little bit clearer, and a little bit stronger. 

All who see her, this incredible picture of a stunning girl, are mesmerized. They are drawn to her warmth and light like sunflowers turned to the golden sun. Every bit of her that she has built shines with the luminosity of every star in the night sky. When she smiles, it reaches inside and wraps you in an embrace of the purest joy and love. It lights a warm and crackling fire in the hearth of your soul. 

Her laugh is as infectious and beckoning as the sweetest melody, the kind that stirs your heart and pulls you out of whatever depths you have sunken into. The kind that ushers in a flood of memories, washing over you and immersing you into the indescribable brilliance of the moment. 

In every situation that she is placed, she builds herself up until she blooms and flourishes. She dances elegantly through the litany of changes and trials. She is a picture in constant motion. She is growing, learning, reaching, flying, building. But she must never cease. This means that no matter how much you have come to adore and depend on her, she must keep moving and growing. Even as she moves along, she carries every person she has touched in her boundless heart. They become more pieces that make up her ever-changing and ever-growing puzzle. They are as much a part of her as she is of them.

It hurts to see her go, leaving you feeling like a perfect, beautiful day has come to an end. But just like the sun, you know you can never really lose her. Even if you cannot see her, her warmth and light are still out there, loving and touching another set of people that need her as much as you do. You keep this in mind, but it’s not enough to keep you from missing her every minute that you are apart. 

Every person lucky enough to meet her is united in an indisputable accord. Our lives are a little bit more beautiful, a little bit warmer, and a little bit brighter because she has been in them.

[tournesol-traveler]

Folded love notes nestled in my heart, Fluttering sentiments decorated inside my rib cage clouded my breaths and dream-swept my mind I had no intention to let go of my happiness

Cascades of your inked emotions now sculpted into my essence Whenever sadness paid unexpected visits I unfurled your love and released the stars in my pockets sweeping them to the heavens to form twinkling constellations Across the universe I would hear your love in misty echoes gathering my body in a cosmic landscape There in the midst of your musings my mind and heart smiled in unison - Karen Isabella @starlitpoems prompt

[tournesol-traveler]

fluttering secrets

There is something exhilarating in sharing my deepest secrets to someone. The rush of anxiety, excitement, fear, and relief as the unspoken words pass my lips. For too long these secrets fluttered around in my head, begging to be let out, to make their way into a trusted ear. They want to be heard, understood, and kept, a new head to float around in. 

There is a moment of silence that follows the secret. The reality of the confession hits me, as my confidant takes in my unfamiliar words. In that one moment the world stops, as thousands of possibilities and fears flash like lightning through my mind. And then, as the corners of their mouth lift into an empathetic smile and my words are returned with understanding and comfort, I well up with relief and feel the little burden lifted off my shoulders. A friend is someone who lifts that burden and carries it with you.

[tournesol-traveler]

tangled concerns

I learned something fascinating today. The difference between worry and concern. 

Worry shakes your spirit with a vicious fervor, a thief of peace and confidence. When I worry about something it overtakes my entire mind, like clouds rolling in over the rising sun. And even though the sunshine is still there, all I can seem to say is “what a gloomy day it is.” Worrying is painful and powerful and has a habit of taking my mind by the reigns and telling me that it is in control. 

Concern, on the other hand, has good intentions. Concern comes from a more benevolent place than its ill-natured cousin. It is something that, rather than twisting and shaking me, gently grounds me and reminds me of myself, others, and the places around me. Concern for someone shows my love and dedication to them while taking care not to let the emotions overtake my entire mind. 

My common mistake is to allow my concern to turn into worry. I must keep my concerns under control. When a small knot of concern begins to grow and twist up in itself, I pause to disentangle the knot to its core, seeing if it’s possible to take action against the problem. If I can, then I keep the concern in its place to push me to action. If I cannot, then, even though it is difficult, I must push away the growing concern to a place where it will be unable to grow, until it is gone. 

Working to be in command of my own concerns requires not allowing them to invade my mind like a hungry parasite. This keeps my head clear but still provides that small voice, that gentle reminder, saying, “remember to take care.” 

[tournesol-traveler]

I saw you writing

I saw you casting stones to the sea

I saw you cursing thunderstorm to cease

I saw you taking your pain to sleep

I saw you building a shelter for your soul

I saw you planting love out of brokenness

a thousand candles with

a thousand matches sticks

you burned the shadows of your past

writing memories on the dust

swaying like a leaf on the tree

when the angry wind blow from the south

releasing your fear like a million birds

during sunset at the beach

unloading your burdens

running your heavy heart under

one rainy morning

I saw you writing

I saw another warrior in the making

Me To You I I see you writing

Df.

[tournesol-traveler]

freeway

My fingers drum against the steering wheel, cars passing and moving by me in a constant blur. Each vehicle its own little world, each with a destination, a driver, a story.

Along this small journey, I am shielded from the world in my bubble of glass and metal. A bubble is often a place that confines you, but I am overwhelmed by the sheer freedom that this one grants. Limitless destinations and possibilities, driven by a few presses of my foot, or pulls of my wrist. 

I think about the ribbons of road that tumble along miles of land, connecting small towns and big cities, mountains and rivers, deserts and oceans. The mere thought of it is exhilarating. 

I must only follow the road, the map, or my heart. Any way will lead to some destination, but wherever that destination is, I have the liberty to choose it. 

Maybe this is why they call it the freeway.

[tournesol-traveler]

Throw the cup

and watch as it

splinters and cracks

Curved handle

left inexplicably intact

Something left to

hold on to

after the smash

Stepping on china

Kneeling in shards

to reach out and grasp

Curl a finger through

unattached curve

Fractured edges like

exposed nerves

Raw frustration

so close to the surface

Reflected in the pieces

of these destructive urges

.

TW blamethebutterfliespoetry

[tournesol-traveler]

REBLOG IF YOU WANT ANONS

Or anyones tbh

[tournesol-traveler]

Like/Reblog if you’re a writeblr!

I wanna fill my dash with all your awesome work!

Especially like/reblog if you post:

Nanowrimo

Writing tips

Writing inspiration

Aesthetics/moodboards

Fantasy

Mystery

Worldbuilding things!

[I follow with my main blog, black-widoh]

[tournesol-traveler]

Great American Novel

He lays unfolded in his bed

Eyes on the ceiling and flowers in his hand

Defeat, defeat, defeat

His record player is Jim Morrison and his nightstand is Brahms

I don’t understand the correlation but I think I understand the way his eyes twitch when he’s nervous

Or in a rant

Or in love

His left eye doesn’t twitch for me anymore and I think I know why

But we don’t say anything about it and I watch the sky fade to black on his bedroom walls

Defeat, defeat, defeat

It’s easier to surrender than I remembered

His hair etches skylines onto his pillow and his hands remind me of frayed photographs

Memories imbedded in each line that attaches skin to tissue, tissue to muscle, muscle to bone

I want to be his cigarette smoke, but I settle for being a shot of vodka instead

A worn welcome on his dresser, I pull my fingers from his hair and check my pulse

It’s still

Defeat, defeat, defeat

His bedspread is Kerouac and his underwear Bukowski

I don’t understand beatniks, but I think I understand the way he instinctively pulls away when I reach for his hand

Or his body

Or his words

He doesn’t write songs for me anymore and I think I know why

But we don’t say anything about it and instead we trace lines on skin and pretend to be different people for a little while

Because sometimes it’s much easier to surrender to a lie than it is to speak the truth

And it’s much easier to feign romance than it is to write the next great American novel

So we lay in his bed and pretend to be poets and dreamers and philosophers

Painters and theatrical performers

All striving for world peace and the annihilation of self-awareness or self enlightenment

The destruction of truth

Anything to prolong gazing into the numbed expression on his face or on mine

Or the way his left eye no longer twitches when he looks at me or the way I don’t reach out for his hand

Or body

Or words

Just defeat defeat defeat

I admit it

I lay on it

I hold it in my arms each night

I’m not in love with you anymore.

-a.a.

[tournesol-traveler]

blocked

I sit in silence 

Pen poised

A dot of pitch black ink seeps through the page

Leaving the scar of an idle hand

Words bubbling and turning in my head 

Mind racing

Words at the very tip of my fingers

But they stay stubbornly where they will never be read 

What good are words

If they are left unwritten?

[tournesol-traveler]

You visit me

in my sleep,

wandering,

tempting me

in my dreams,

You visit me in

my thoughts deep,

even in the busiest

of noon times,

I think of you

in my times of joy

Wishing the fun

I am having were with you,

All these, sad and nice

and joy and ice,

I wish I were having

and doing with you, but

All I crave were

to lose all craving for you

I, to you, am

no more,

I just wish

You were that

to me too.

No, you’ll

never be

no more

to me.