Green eyed and dark haired in an unwashed bathrobe she sits at the kitchen table, and stares at the laptop screen, with a Pasbt Blue Ribbon on the table, and a spoon full of dark chocolate icing hanging loosely in her mouth. She pulls the spoon out of her mouth sucking on the last good bit of icing and then lifts the beer can and takes a long.
She thinks how he would of loved this. She thinks about all the Pabst she drank the last two years. Empty cans that could fill up her whole apartment. All the beer, all the time, everywhere she would look it would be something living in the smallest crease of daily life.
She drives to work in grey in purple business casual with tears streaming down her face. The shoes she wears when they met. She thinks she needs to get over it. Over the idea that no one could compare. All men love video games and sports too much for her liking.
She talks to her co-workers inside the sales shop. She goes about her day counting money and sending e-mails. Only when standing still does she think abou him and what he doing. She thinks about his family down the road.
“Don’t be sad” co-workers tell her. She can’t help but smile at their attempts. But she knows they could not understand fully.
“Take care of yourself” says another man after he sees the tears in her eyes on the floor. The morning likes to haunt her. Every now and then her phone will vibrate. Oh its him, wait no. Then she remembers. The weight settles in her head. She swallows the reality.
She remembers the good times. The times when she felt free and affirmed living a place of love and happiness and endless pantsless dances and kisses. The bittersweet smell of the air in late April coming in French doors in a drafty flat. Dreamy days and long nights. Love notes left on plastic cats. The words that flowed so easily with help of cheap tequila and a dozen PBRs. Bike rides in the rain and dreams of being up on a stage dancing together.
She saw him cry once. He saw her cry more than a dozen times. Five years and his father. Five years and what a surprise. Absinth later. New Orleans. Still he was gone. And she knew that haunted him more than her mornings ever could.
She keeps busy. She folds her laundry, because she has the time. She goes to church, because that is the only thing that could take her back right now. Shame fills up her gut. Doubt eats away at her nights. And the light hits everything a little different.
He left that day with all the good times in his suitcase. A boyish grin. And a face she couldn’t read to save her life.
Where does love go when it dies?
So the domain link was busted for like, a week. All because I miss-typed something. Well, it should be back up later tonight!
And so, hey everyone, love you lots and all the messages you send. Being very selective with submissions lately. Been going through a lot, personally since christmas, too. Things are great though. Send over some happy messages and submissions and we’ll see what we can blog, ok?
If you’re up right now text someone you love. Moments slip away so easily.
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You’re going to have dreams about her, and it’s going to freak you out. They’re going to be vivid but thankfully ephemeral (although that doesn’t mean they won’t be reoccurring). Why? Have you not allowed yourself to feel what your soul wanted you to feel? Have pushed down your sadness, your sense of loss, and that tiny flame of rage? Because she’s inside of your head at night, and you can’t control it. People will tell you this is indicative of something, and of course you don’t want to hear that, but it brings in the doubt. Do you miss her? Do you need her back in your life? In the daylight hours when you can wander out to your stoop and sit in the sun, where your head is the clearest, you know her time in your life has past. At night, at night though, your doubts run wild throughout your head. Close your eyes and take a breath. Brother, you are doing fine. Aside from physically removing her entirely from your life, emotionally you cast her out from the haunts of you soul, too. But still, maybe she lingers in your subconscious, but then again, so does everybody you meet. The people you know, knew, loved and hated all help shape you into the person you are. So let her have a few minutes a night, from time to time. Like most ghosts, she’ll disappear once you ignore her for long enough.
John Waite — “Missing You”
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Jessica Lea Mayfield — “The One That I Love Best”
I might need it too.
as you’re traveling through the forrest alone the wind blows up to you. you welcome this company because you feel so alone, exposed in the elements. you’re looking for home, but you can’t find your way. the wind knows your name, knows your intentions and breezily, like the wind does, tries to convince you that you are not alone in this forrest. the wind is with you. this is fine for some time. you continue on. as time passes you are convincing yourself that you are making progress, that each step is towards something of substance and not away. the wind, nimble and lithe follows you, maybe even goading you along at times. until you realize that the wind isn’t with you so much as it’s just near you, you were really alone the whole time. each step you took a song, and each song a story and each story a tear drop each tear drop has a heart each heart has a wish. as you turn around to see how far you’ve come you see clearly that each step you took, you were alone and how you will remain alone, lost amongst the trees.
I think I left my heart with you in the summer.
I left it with you in your bed.
I left it smeared and bloody against all the walls you pushed me up against.
I let it ring out into the black night like your missed calls at 3am.
I let it spasm, and slow, and die in the interminable silence which crept in when the leaves changed colour.
I want it back.
Submitted by emmakempsell.
Somehow it’s was more terrifying to even contemplate losing her, because at that point in our lives I hadn’t exactly lost her, but it felt close. Close like how late at night when she rolls over and takes half of your pillow and you can feel her breath-she’s that close- see her chest rise and fall, and it falls. To the floor like a blanket that she bought that you didn’t even need, that you didn’t want and, when you wake in the middle of the night and you need a glass of water, and she’s not there and as you rise you just let her blanket fall.
And you never bother to pick it, or anything, up. Emotions and fears and hates and love and newspaper articles and baggage and people all lay strewed about your life, as carelessly treated like a blanket you never wanted on the bed in the first place. Except, most of the mistreated things in your life don’t belong to you, do they? They belong to her. As it turns out most of the best things you have came from her: moments you can be unguarded, risks you would never take, the way you can feel strong because she is strong. You’ve hijacked the bests things about her, and didn’t look after them properly.
There is always a way to fix this, you hope. There is always a path back to her. You’ll find that because of your journey you will always leave a path back home. These lessons are important, because they will show you what your relationship can take. It’ll show you were strong, and where you weren’t. Because most things don’t break because of dramatic force. They break under gradual pressure, they break slowly. And you have to know that if you’re ever going to stop it.
Maybe one day, but probably not.
Thanks for your loyalty.
Welcome to Tumblr Tuesday, where we highlight just a few of our favorite Tumblr blogs of the moment.
Philmore U. Photography
Philmore is a student, photographer, and cinematographer from Miami, and he posts things he’s created or is inspired by. Above: A self-portrait.Small Sculptures
Artist Haniya Rae, Editor of Guernica Magazine, presents Small Sculptures.Rebecca Rae Barton
Printmaker and mixed media artist exploring the human experience via stone etchings.C▲ssidy R▲e Limb▲ch
Abstract painter/illustrator working on linen with acrylics, collage and inks.Long Gone
Original drawings and other works mixed with works inspirational to the artist.For more updates on what’s new, check the official New & Notable Tumblrs blog!
When I wrote poems
People would say I had a gift
That I…had a way with words
And maybe it’s the heroin
That’s got me like this
But I haven’t written a single word
That’s meant anything
Since I stopped loving you
submitted by wherewegofromhere.
Good to know that people still remember this blog, even after years.
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J.D McPherson — ”North Side Gal”
via fluffed.
You’ve decided that you’d rather give up. You say you’ll always love me, but we both know this isn’t working. You say we’ve complicated everything, ruined everything. You say you don’t want to hurt me anymore, but you know it’s inevitable. You say, look at us, we’ll never work this out, it’s over.
But why is it always what you say? What about what I say? I say you need to man the fuck up and stop running away from all of your problems like a coward. I say you should start being a decent human being instead of pretending like you’re incapable of reason or intelligence or responsibility or love. I say yes we’ve ruined everything but I say that DOESN’T mean we leave our shit in pieces on the floor, we pick the jagged edges and move forwards.
I say, what happened to the days when our faces glowed in eachothers’ reflections? Now we both just look away.
Submitted by hotdamnn-rachel.
