the deafening scratch of pepto bismol nails ( Read more... )

A palindromic cruelty seems to rule love ( Read more... )

I am in love with him and that's okay. There is not enough love in the world so let yourself love. Loving feels even better than being loved so just keep on loving no matter what. Love him as selflessly and as selfishly as you can. Love his hair and his eyes and his heart and his perpetually dirty sheets and cheap whiskey and lovely music. Love his ( Read more... )

Being cooped up alone in a foreign country where articulate conversation is pretty much not an option gives on a lot of time for thinking and introspection. At the forefront of those thoughts have been love and travel- perhaps not a big surprise. I think at the core they are very similar subjects. I think there are two kinds of people you love, or ( Read more... )

your presence is projected on the brick wall
warm fluid squares of light
filled with the industrial silhouette
of your hard heart and my rusted head

i hate endings

I <3 Franz Boas. Defly scribbled on a bathroom stall in generic black sharpie. It brough on a tidal wave of nostalgia. The countless hours spent in that building- the orange charm of the worn wood floors, the polished banisters, and stairs divited from years of students' touch. The memories came back with the smell of old panaling and new carpet- ( Read more... )

maybe it's the fairy tales ( Read more... )

Before the cheap sheer curtains of a foreign window frame I thought of you
I closed my eyes to the grey city and tried to come up with your face
but your features always blur
my synapses cling to the rough contours of your cheekbones
the hard bridge of your nose, your dimples
but in between your ruddy skin is blank and ill fitting
how is it that i can ( Read more... )

in a milky sea of creamy sheets and glossy quilts ( Read more... )