March 2010
2 posts
And both our heartbeats filled the room with a drumming that made your bottom lip tremble as you kissed me.
You’ve got this way of making the ugliest things sound beautiful. You could take the grimmest words and wrap your tongue around them until they sound like they were sung from our church choir. All things dirty and melancholy that have gathered in your breast could leave your mouth smooth and fresh. I would taste them, and hold them against my ribs without realizing how truly macabre they...
February 2010
7 posts
How about that night that I’d spent preaching to my parents, telling them how good you were for me? That night when I told them all about you, and how every shitty thing you’d ever done was because your dad didn’t know any other way of punishing aside from using his hand. How your mom was an alcoholic, but you weren’t going to hit the bottle because you didn’t want to...
The summer of the yellow dress.
“Do you remember when you dumped that red slushie on me at the fair?”
“Kind of.”
I’m lying, I remember that summer quite well, it was the summer of the yellow dress. Your mom got it for you when you guys took that trip out to the city. She’d bought you that frozen lemonade and you guys walked up and down the streets, window-shopping and smiling and laughing....
You said, I am everything that could make you happy, And now I know, you’re the girl who’s made the biggest fool out of me.
In the morning, I took my shower silently. Carefully, I spent an hour washing away every last bit of you from my skin, my hair, and from every crook of my body. It took a bar of soap and by the end of it, my nails were so white and fingers so pruney, that I knew there was nothing left of you. You were gone, out with the hot, soapy water, traveling through the pipes and maybe out to sea. I brushed...
Sometimes, I dream about crawling through your window and laying in your bed, so I could feel all the things that made you want to do it. I guess I’ll never know, your parents put that house up for sale a year ago and moved far away. The family that lives there now, they’re ignorant to it all, and it’s probably better that way.
But sometimes, just sometimes, I’ll drive...
When did we start growing tired of one another? I think it started when you called me a ‘pig’ for thinking sex shouldn’t be something so private. You hated how I preached it as the one thing we all really have in common, so why did we lock it behind closed doors and turn it into a taboo? Or how I’d grab you in public, my way of showing you affection, but your turn-off. I’d confuse the rosiness of...
I’m not a wise man, no, I’m a simple man. However, the things I know, I’ve mastered. I know that the best sleep I’ve ever gotten was when my stomach was full of whiskey, after I’d kissed you for what felt like hours, with your breast in my palm. I’ve learned the difference between a casual acquaintance and a friend has everything to do with eye contact and...
January 2010
2 posts
Oh how you were there all along, beating inside my chest. A deep humming in my ribs, a quaking in my back. You are my shivering skin, the vibrations in my vocal chords. And you were there all along, there all along, but only now Have I learned to sing you.
In bed, they lay like two puzzle pieces. The small of her body is pressed up into his groin and her fleshy breast finds its place in his palm. His lips find the slope of her neck, and she slender fingers are the perfect size for the V’s between his knuckles. In this moment, they seem perfect; every, crease and corner to their bodies just seem to align perfectly.
December 2009
15 posts
“In the act of tearing something apart, you lose its meaning.”
– Malcolm Gladwell, Blink.
“You can live life slowly, you can be patient and calm with her. But she is a...”
“Time takes it all whether you want it to or not, time takes it all. Time bares...”
– Stephen King (via reluctantbuddha) (via quote-book)
“Because I could not stop for Death,
He kindly stopped for me;
The carriage...”
– Emily Dickinson, Because I Could Not Stop For Death.
“The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked: who can know...”
– Jeremiah 17:9
Her: I don't know. It's such a gamble.
Him: Listen, we're gonna fight. We're gonna scream. We're gonna fucking hate each other, sometimes. Maybe you won't want to see me for days, even weeks. You'll pile pillows up between us in bed, you'll make me sleep on the couch. You'll think about killing me, and I'll think about killing you. I'll hate you so much, all because I won't be able to formulate the proper words or actions to show you how much I love you. Because I won't feel good enough, and because I won't feel worthy of you. I'll be so mad at myself for not being able to love you properly, that I'll take it out on you. But I'll make it up to you, some way, some how. In your weakest moments, I'll hold you tightest. Your skin will be the only skin I'll want against mine. I'll never want to taste anybody else's mouth. I'll never want to laugh with anybody else. I'll never be able to imagine laying in bed with someone else. Because I fucking love you, I love you so much that it makes me lightheaded and delirious. It makes me stupid and crazy, but knowing that you love me back will be worth all my emotions.
“Where is this love? I can’t see it, I can’t touch it. I can’t...”
– Alice, Closer (2004)
“We were silent, still, attached at the pelvis. Naked, we were naked. If it...”
“Stop talking about love. Every asshole in the world says he loves somebody. It...”
– Stephen, The Last Kiss.
“All I was asking over and over was, ‘How do you have sex with someone...”
– Leila, Lie with Me (2005)
“I won’t become good. I won’t become nice. I’ll be bad just for...”
– Leila, Lie with Me (2005)
“We have, as human beings, a storytelling problem. We’re a bit too quick to come...”
– Malcolm Gladwell, Blink: The Power of Thinking Without Thinking
Her cigarette was just a tool, something to occupy her lips and keep her focused on the moment. Sometimes I wondered if she even liked smoking, or if she just needed something to keep herself occupied with. Without her Marlboro, what would she do with her hands? What would she do with her teeth and tongue during those long pauses? She’d have to ramble on, and use up all the oxygen in the room,...
“Love is a serious mental disease.”
– Plato (via reluctantbuddha) (via quote-book)