Salinyay-blog - Bananafish

I know I used to live without you but that was before I knew the brown speckles of your eyes or the softness of your lips. Before your laughter became my favourite sound and your smile the brightest part of my day. That was before I fell in love with you. Now you’re a part of me like the blood in my veins or the air in my lungs and I need you just as bad. I can’t imagine a day without you and I hope I’ll never have to again.

(via ifthenightcouldtalk)

french kiss : expat

hard to explain how i never thought i would end up in france. hard to explain how this country did not choose me to come live here. funny how romantic it sounds to blame it on destiny; as if this country & i were the lovers whose glances first crossed amid the urban chaos of a subway station. no. this magic has never existed in my love affair with this nation.

in spanish: amor apache (or the art of both passionate love & vivid hatred between two individuals). i can't articulate my speech as i seem to have lost my words somewhere in the flames of our burning love.

some days i rot in the frustration of not belonging; a result of frequently trimming the rough edges of a red existence in a blue world. some other late nights, i get to my apartment half drunk on red wine & half drunk on happiness; i lie on the floor of my tiny 19 m2 & feel my neurons marinating in french slangs & tones. i look back on the olden days when french first came dancing on my skin; how it then gently climbed up my spine to waltz on my shoulders & later infiltrate my brains. oh god i wasn't even looking.

tu me fais oublier ma langue maternelle, chaton.  

but tell me, france, why have we been so rough to one another? i know this ain't no love story though i certainly did run straight into your arms. please, france, confess to me: how did we become the enemies who suddenly fell head over heels for each other? like the fighters who mysteriously found love in the corner of a boxing ring; & lost in their yearning for a stormy fight, they now fail to draw the line between the infatuation & the bloodshed.

france, just tell me where the loving ends & the punching begins.

s'il te plaît, petite tête.

should we move on with the fighting, may our battle warrant the presence of deities. should we sail off into the open seas of our love, may the wind tell us her secrets on how to flee.

On a pitch-black night, we stare out the window at the emptiness of space. eye to eye, fear to fear. & for a split second, life seems to be all about the safekeeping, the kissing,

& the screaming.  

- @skinthepoet

Black Lips is all about the boys who will straight up lie to your face; the poem kind of explores the early signs of a devastating explosion.

Tears of joy fall down A crooked smile appears After all these years

 Nicholas A Browne, Haiku 446 (via wnq-writers)

Her fingers moving fast & brutal as if mapping blue edges of the unseen sky.

This is what it means to really want something. Her open mouth an iris ringed

with desperation deeper than shame. You’ll forsake everything if only to be real—

— Natalie Wee, from “Mirror,” Our Bodies & Other Fine Machines

My friend makes me a mix CD and it’s the only thing that will keep me both  grounded and above ground for the next few weeks. But,  I don’t know this yet. Right now, all I know is that I must’ve walked through a fist fight in my sleep – I have the bruises, the bloodshed, but none of the glory. All I know is that I am a week of my worst days doused in gasoline. And somewhere, someone is standing with a matchbox in hand, waiting.

A.Y. // STARTING FIRES (via 2wentysixletters)

note to self: don’t stop fighting