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“What if I write it and it’s bad-”

WHAT IF YOU WRITE IT AND ITS GOOD? WHAT IF YOU WRITE IT AND ITS EXACTLY WHAT YOU WANTED? WHAT THEN????

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you get the best version of me when I feel safe around you

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“Sometimes we meet someone and are with them for a short time, yet somehow we write about them forever.”

— jcatmoonlight

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Someone tell him I’m ready to be his tour photographer

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“We’re people who got into this line of work because we wanted people to like us. Because we were intrinsically insecure, and because we liked the sound of people clapping cause it made us forget how much we feel like we’re not good enough.”

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Don’t want to die but definitely don’t want to be alive. What the fuck am I supposed to do with that?

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Castles in the sky are where fairy tales are born.

Original Artist - Nona Limmen.

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My heart feels homesick for a love I’ve never had, and how can you be nostalgic over something that was never yours?

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MIGUEL

I still sleep with the teddy my ex got me. Not because it’s hers, but because it was the only smell of home and of safety that traveled with me all the way to New York. The only thing that felt like anything I could comprehend. I’ve gone though an entire 360 rotation and now I’m holding that same teddy. I tried to cuddle something else at night. Everything has changed and this isn’t even the home I left those few years ago. But somehow, encapsulated in the scent chip of a build a bear, is the feeling of home. The only feeling that calms my body down enough to say it’s okay. Maybe that’s the reason we hold onto childhood teddies; because we’re always just an inch away from that first feeling of home that’ll never be more than nostalgia now.

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Seeing yourself in love-

It's well and truly such an interesting concept. Someone and something I no longer have, forever immortalized in videos and pictures, ones where I could see how my entire world lay behind the eyes of someone else.

Even wilder again is the thought that those are the same eyes that have become strangers to me - the exact twinkle not quite as clear in my mind as they used to be. What used to be muscle memory feels foreign; the only reminder being a video of a kiss, a gentle caress, a tangle of two people's skin where you cannot tell where one starts and the other ends.

It has been a while since I've laid in bed with someone else, completely removed of all my masks. A morning spent tangled up in sheets and lost in time because if I hid from the concept it didn’t have to exist. Days felt like eternity, because I would laugh and scream and just exist, on loop, as sunrise slowly passed to sunset. 

It is so interesting to see what things pictures whisper to me. My talkative eyes tell me so much, with love and passion radiating out of them in a way that lets me recall that exact moment through the screen as if it had barely passed.

I love hard and I fall hard. I find refuge in the arms of those I’ve loved; their embrace as my safety net, and their scent as my home.

When I see it through old pictures and videos, it feels both nostalgic and yet wildly foreign to see my eyes speak emotions I am not currently comprehending. The same way I question how on earth I found energy as a child to spring awake and play relentlessly, I question how I ever found myself letting go enough to trust someone else to catch me.

It is unfair to call that emotion foreign; I guess I prefer distant. Something not quite gone out of my range of sight, but just far enough out of it that I see it in a horizon slightly out of my reach. 

It can’t be too far gone- I see glimpses of it every day.

I see it in my mother, who makes sure I always leave the house with a coffee and a kiss on the head.

I see it in my father, who remembers my big events of the day to show me he cares.

I see it in the way that I am never to be forgotten by my sisters, who despite resistance to my endless hugs, will come and giggle and make sense of jokes that require our specific sense of humor, not leaving until the clouds clear from above my head.

I see it in my best friend's messages, because although we both recede into the comfort of our own busy lives, she will always remind me she is proud of me, and that she is thinking of me every day.

I see it in the eyes of another mother, who will make me dinner to not end the flow of conversation we are thoroughly invested in as I sit perched on her car in a parking lot.

I see it in the texts my sweet angels send me, because although we are oceans apart, we are tied by an invisible cord that binds our hearts to each other.

I see it in her piercing, fierce eyes. The ones that calculate my every thought and move in a way that reads straight through my soul, because time is a simple concept compared to how well she understands my heart.

I even smell it in her perfume. A scent I will never be able to replace in my mind, that fills me with warmth and association to a joy I cannot ever capture in words.

And this is why it is such a strange concept to see myself in love. 

I don’t know how to capture it in words.

I cannot fathom its range, because it is a range deeper than I can comprehend.

I simply know exactly how it feels; and it feels like a bad day is still worth pushing through because there will be more days filled with the essence and purity captured in my heart.

Capturing something so uncontainable and intangible within myself is impossible. It is foreign for me to see. 

So, whenever I catch a glimpse of my eyes twinkling in a mirror, or a reflection, or in a picture captured in a moment of my most raw emotion, I cannot help but love what it invokes in my soul, because there is nothing stranger yet more beautiful than to see myself in love.

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Ninth of June

Ninth of June.

Maybe I will be on the sand of Corfu. Summer heat, full of hope and laughter and endless amounts of people flocking in for the same annual hope of a life changing experience. A summer love that will be forever earmarked in the rings of their souls, or a new awakening that makes them realize that this year will be theirs to keep.

I see myself running up and down the shores of warmth, glowing in the sun as I let myself forget everything that’s ever held me back. Inevitably there will be the sounds of a 2016 Tiesto remix playing at a beach front club, and we will all roll our eyes at how the music in Europe is always stuck in our highschool times. But we will laugh, because secretly, if even secretly, we know it wouldn’t be the same without the reminders of simplicity we lived before we had to go through what we did to find ourselves.

This year, I might not even make it to Corfu in time for the summer. I might be in the wintery depths of my own home. I’ll have a cup of something warm to remind my body of the warmth of running around in the radiant sun on the beach. Hell, I might even play my own 2016 Tiesto remix for nostalgia to a time I view with a rose-colored tinge.

Either way, I have a feeling that by the Ninth of June I'll be okay. I’ll make sure to wear a T-Shirt that says lover on it, just for the sake of it. And if it isn’t the sun beaming over me, I know I’ll have so much love in my heart. So much love, that it’ll warm me up the same way the sun would if I was on the sands of Corfu.

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“When you love someone, it’s never over. You move on because you have to, but you take them with you in your heart.”

— Elizabeth Chandler

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“The ‘what ifs’ and ‘should haves’ will eat your brain.”

— John O Callaghan

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“please don’t come closer unless you plan to stay”

— Unknown