The air breaks. His vision blurs.
The world sharpens, then splits
from edge to edge until—
And the crash back into himself
is violent, but grounding.
Because he knows now.
This is a dream.
A deluded fantasy conjured from longing
for someone trapped behind wood and nails
six feet out of reach.
One look, and I’m lost.
One hug, and I’m grounded.
One arduous whisper, and my knees are gone beneath me.
It’s not the lack of control I fear, it’s this.
Tenderness, intimacy, things too hot to touch.
I fear my own vulnerability, and I pray you don’t take advantage.
When I wake,
can there be
I regret my weakness — the young, hesitant desire that unleashes the coward in my bones — but not you. Never you. How could I ever regret the lone shaft of light that shines upon this harsh world, reminding me that somewhere beyond, there is a sky… and it’s bright enough to illuminate every shadow in my way.
It’s time I remembered that I’m worth more than whatever sixpence affection you have to offer.
She has scars birthed from cruelty, but they’re made beautiful by how proudly she wears them.
Premature wrinkles over furrowed brows are a testament of my old regrets, and even older grievances. They’re the echoes of a time when the world was flipped on its side and all the roads stretched out before me led only to awful choices. Some of the turns I made were light and swift, done without much thought, while the rest brought rivers of tears down my cheeks, salty stings that are only good for softening the harshness of the rest of the world.
Regardless, each decision still lingers like unshakable sand in the back of my head, making time pass strangely when I’m alone and caught in the shadow of my own darkness.
“Where Did It All Go Wrong?”
by: Noel Gallagher
Connect with me on
IG | Twitter | Tumblr | Facebook
Goodreads | Amazon
Bare your soul,
Raise your head,
Watch how easily
this cage crumbles.
Wanton zealot, piquer of kings, jester of insanity, cast thy hex—madness, I will never succumb.
3LT Week 37
It’s beautiful, truly it is, it’s everything I could have wanted in a wedding—outdoors, the wind in my hair and the sun lighting my skin, and yet, I find myself hollow, yearning for something I don’t quite know… can you help me, love?
I want you to speak to me of a time when our laughter bellowed across distances, when we weren’t afraid of getting our new shoes dirty in the blades of grass, when we were just kids hanging around the local 711 with no money and a pack of stale fries between us, and the clerk would eye us disapprovingly as we lingered a little too long in the alcohol section; remind me of a time when I could sit on that swing without fear of getting my clothes stained and you’d just… push.
“Dear, we’re older, we’re wiser, we can legally drink, we have jobs and money and expensive shoes—‘Yes, I know that, but I want to remember, so please just’—I don’t understand why I need to remind you, my dear… why can’t that time be now?”