1. Are her lips like the hot chocolate your mother made
During the winter months when you were seven?
Or have you not tasted her well enough to find the fine granules of cocoa that lightly come with each kiss?
2. Do you know her favorite songs?
Not when she is happy, but when she is sad.
What music reaches inside her ribcage and softly consoles her heart?
3. When she is sad, are you on the phone or are you at her door?
Words do not wipe away tears, fingers do.
4. Do you know all the things that keep her up at night?
Do you know why she has gone three days without sleep?
Do you know of the insurmountable waves of sadness that wash over her like a tsunami?
5. Do you know the things to say that will calm her heartbeat? The places to touch? The places to love?
6. Everytime you see her do you kiss her like it’s the last time but love her like it’s the first?
7. Do you love her?
8. Do you love her?
My sister told me a soul mate is not the person
who makes you the happiest but the one who
makes you feel the most, who conducts your heart
to bang the loudest, who can drag you giggling
with forgiveness from the cellar they locked you in.
It has always been you. You are the first
person I was afraid to sleep next to,
not because of the fear you would leave
in the night but because I didn’t want to wake up
ungracefully. In the morning, I crawled over
your lumbering chest to wash my face and pinch
my cheeks and lay myself out like a still-life
beside you. Your new girlfriend is pretty
like the cover of a cookbook. I have said her name
into the empty belly of my apartment. Forgive me.
When I feel myself falling out of love with you,
I turn the record of your laughter over, reposition
the needle. I dust the dirty living room of your affection.
I have imagined our children. Forgive me. I made up
the best parts of you. Forgive me. When you told me
to look for you on my wedding day, to pause
on the altar for the sound of your voice
before sinking myself into the pond of another
love, forgive me. I mistook it for a promise.
by Sierra DeMulder
Best birthday gift… @ltrottin tracked down the author of my favorite book ever from Brooklyn to Argentina to get me a signed copy 🙆😌😁 #nicolekrauss #thehistoryoflove
I grasped the two syllables closest to me, and replaced my heartbeat with your name.
I have buried you in every place I’ve been. You keep ending up in my shaking hands.
can we speak in flowers.
it will be easier for me to understand.
“Contending against a restless shower head,
I lather my own.
The hot tap, without a mind, decides to scald me; The cold, without a will, would rather freeze me.
Turning them to suit me is an act of flesh
I know as mine.
Here am I: scalp, neck, back, breasts, armpits, spine, Parts I’ve long been part of, never treasured much,
Since I absorb them not by touch, more because of touch.
It’s my mind, with its hoard of horribles, that’s “me”.
Or is it really? I fantasize it bodiless, set free:
No bones, no skin, no hair, no nerves, just memory,
Untouchable, unwashable, and not, I guess, my own.
Still, none will know me better when I’m words on stone
Than I, these creased familiar hands and clumsy feet. My soul, how will I recognize you if we meet?”
—Anne Stevenson, from Washing My Hair
Trespassers William - There Is A Light That Never Goes Out (Cover)
I never never want to go home
Because I haven’t got one anymore
I'm a desert child
and mountains make me nauseous