And I choose you every single second, hour of the day. I choose you, KYJ. ❤️
— Stephen King, “Lisey’s Story” (via creatingaquietmind)
We numbered the days with
how strong the pain was.
We doused out hearts in gasoline
and kissed with matches in our teeth.
But fires die out and we forget
that it’s okay to stay in love
when it does not burn.
You have freedom
etched into your collarbones
spelled like the bite marks I gave on the
nights that we made songs out of ourselves.
is the sound of a front door opening;
eloquence is your fingers playing
me like piano keys;
miracles are when you sleep beside me,
when we kiss and I tremble yet
I’m still standing on my feet.
Once I asked why you stopped writing
and you said, “This is it. This is
what it’s supposed to feel like” and I saw
safe in the space between our ribcage.
So on the nights you feel like
I were made for kings,
hold my hand and find commitment
braided down my spine.
Let your bones rest here.
Let me make art on your skin for
you are mine.
You are a poem that breathes;
you are words with a heartbeat.
Sade Andria Zabala | You Are The Poem I Didn’t Know How To Write
When words come to life, you exist.
My kneecaps are separated from my knees and
some days it feels like I could pick them up
and throw them away.
I wonder what it’s like
to remove a part of yourself.
In our dreams do we still have tonsils?
When our stomach feels empty,
is it really just the absence of our appendix?
The closest I’ve ever come to missing
a part of me,
was missing you.
Some days, I wake up and remember that my dreams
lie when they say you still love me.
— Ray Bradbury, Dandelion Wine (via goodendure)
that I didn’t need
to try so hard to be perfect,
that I was enough
it was okay."
— Unknown (via tellmefive)
— Libba Bray (via creatingaquietmind)
— Maya Angelou (via crles)