Instead of writing,
I would rather be saying
all these words to you.
Of course I’ll hurt you. Of course you’ll hurt me. Of course we will hurt each other. But this is the very condition of existence. To become spring, means accepting the risk of winter. To become presence, means accepting the risk of absence.–
"… and I question the connections that we made"
Thanks for the reminder, tho, you.
(Source: itsthewaitingunknown)Via Led Fleetwood
im at my church and im using the wifi here and i look to see what my connections are and
I remember a time that I paid her a compliment
And she looked all confused like she couldn’t tell
what my words had meant
Turned, slightly incredulous, but a truly surprised, “What?”
A reaction that said I was the first to say
she had a nice butt
And I reacted more strongly, wondering why
no other guy had said
What I’d just said to be honest, not to get inside her head
Not in bed
No such dance
Just a boyfriend telling his girlfriend
something mattering to him in that moment
A sort of pleasant torment
that I thought was clear
But apparently, it was something that she needed to hear
So much fear in the hearts of chubby girls and skinny guys
Spindly arms or touching thighs
We all think we have our reasons to feel worthless
to the opposite sex
I still get nervous shirtless
because my pects might not be shaped right
If I flex, cancel date night
They’ll all just laugh at me
Behind my back, it’d be
Not unlike catastrophe
to any hopes of attraction
That’s the reaction I expect
We fear the worst
Brainwashed into thinking we’re cursed by our physique
if it’s even the least bit unique
Then I suddenly remember
a real moment in a real September
You don’t forget when the truth really lands
And that beautiful woman was under my hands
And love was made
'Cause love had stayed long enough to appreciate the view
So, maybe one day
I might hear a woman say
that I am beautiful, too
Another of those photos that was even more perfect for having Nick Drake paying behind it :)
So often, I dive too deep
Occasionally coming up for air a blowhard
And whether or not I come up
with any pearls of wisdom
I will always continue to dive
I would love for someone to dive with me
Someone to hold her breath
(Someone from whom I could take it away)
and take the plunge
As my ego-erring huge head bobs to the surface
this question also comes up:
Is she deep enough?
That is to ask, how far can she dive?
How far is she willing to go with me?
Can she fathom the journey
I want to share?
So, beautiful, are you deep enough?
Well, what do you love?
How does it draw you? How do you love?
Does it spring from your essence for the elemental?
Do you dig down to get to the bottom of love?
Do you lose yourself until you find love?
Do you divine love?
Does its water live in you?
Does it renew you?
Would it renew me?
Dive down to find me?
Bring me up for air?
i do some bad things
sometimes just to make sense that
they happen to me
I… I got nothin’…
Becky, buddy, why do you hate me so much? lol
Via Still has trust issues
I think if Dickens was alive today, he’d have been working for the BBC, until HBO offered him much more money.–
Heh, lit jokes… It’s funny ‘cause it’s true…Via The New Yorker