Can Someone Fucking Linger Near The Door Uncomfortably Instead Of Just Leaving. Can Someone Fucking Forget

Regrets from a princess,

Or a knight

Let’s call it a night.

My heart beckons me to your every call.

It races, it leaps, frolicking in some poisonous daises.

Why doesn’t it know any better?

Each day is a lesson learned

Each day is a prayer earned.

My hatred for syrup is the same as my feelings- a sticky situation that i can’t get myself out of.

I want to cry

And i cry.

I’m angry

Again.

I’m let down

Again

What does it look like for one person to hold on while the other hand has let go? For me it looks like awkward car rides with no way home cause nothing lasts forever

It’s like sleeping in the same house but in different rooms

KNITTED 

She had knit you a sweater, 

You wear it every day. 

You’ve had it sixteen years so- 

It’s to no surprise that you'd never throw it away. 

The threads follow you like a trail of shadows, 

It’s thin and damaged

It smells of hard work 

She had knit you a sweater, 

You wear it every day

You say it’s disgusting 

But you never cleaned it anyway. 

She had knit you a sweater, 

You hate it with such pain 

To have met you was not a careful thing,

Neither graceful nor patient,

And we definitely didn’t know what we were

Getting ourselves into.

All we know is happiness,

Your presence, and essence scream joy.

You are my warm kindred spirit,

My daring bog creature,

My knight in shining armor

Your lips do wonders

The words that flow from your lips are always spoken with such a passion that makes the angels jealous

When i close my eyes, i can still feel you on my skin

What a blessing you are

From all the prayers I’ve prayed, to be met with your gaze,

My heart won’t stop

Racing

My hands never forgiving,

To let you go is always hard

But to see you once more, i thank the very car you drove in.

Quick shout out to skin!

For being soft and warm! Also, you contain horrors I cannot comprehend...

Just a girl, wrapped in a blanket, with the wind whistling and the rain storming outside, doing her research for her thesis, in a paratextual friendship with twenty-years-old Mary Shelley she will never know about because we are two centuries apart

WX. 

I don’t owe you 

Anything. 

Nothing at all. 

I don’t have anything else 

To offer. 

But you know that – don’t you? 

Just look at your damn sweater 

I have knit you everything I could 

It now has holes and you trip on the 

Threads. 

Perhaps you would like to tangle 

Yourself in those threads 

They didn't let you down 

You did. 

You dig, dig, and dig. 

Sputnik Sweetheart, Haruki Murakami

EVERYTHING 

His eyes, oh his eyes were jewels 

I wanted to rob him blind 

He stared at me like I was something 

My heart rushed, jumping in my chest 

Why did I feel like I was 

Nothing to him?

He whispered to me 

“What are we?” 

Nothing 

Coldness surrounds us 

Could we be something?

Could he keep me warm? 

“What am I to you?” 

I whispered back. 

His eyes never left my gaze, 

Never blinking

“Everything.”