Kiana Khansmith
Sweet Seals For You, Always
Discoholic 🪩
trying on a metaphor
Keni
Love Begins
DEAR READER
todays bird
YOU ARE THE REASON
Stranger Things
PR's Tumblrdome
Misplaced Lens Cap
Three Goblin Art
TVSTRANGERTHINGS
@theartofmadeline
祝日 / Permanent Vacation
⁂
Monterey Bay Aquarium
JVL
oozey mess
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@joywritesj
there is a kind of memory that feels, somehow suddenly, like a wound, though not always, not until one wanders back through: the dark, damp alley the only path toward home
every place I have loved has forced me to leave.
-b ferguson, from "Parkside & Ocean", You Are Here:
Poetry in the Natural World
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There is something wrong with the deer. It is not all right. It has caught its leg in a length of something. They cut it free and let it go but you can tell it is not all right. It might never be all right. Call it a myth and the truth grows abstract. Call it a lie and the truth is a doubled fact. My stepmother's father was an Elk. We would go to the lodge to eat roast beef and watch him butt heads with the other Elks.
Sometimes he would raise a glass in praise and we would clap. Sometimes he would remember and we would bow our heads.
The Elks fought in the war to end tyranny.
They left, they fought, and they came back. They are not all right. Once, I drove to the end of the world. It was in Los Angeles. Someone had posted a sign. It read No U-turn. Parking $5. The beach was nice. I wrote you a letter in case I died but I threw it away. It was good practice.
We have to practice losing everything. We are deer, we are headlights. We are the road where they collide.
Soon I will return. I always do.
Because I cannot really live without you.
-David Kishik, from Self Study
Yes, there is a place where someone loves you both
before and after they learn what you are.
- Neil Hilborn's The Future
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I want to tell you this story without having to confess anything,
without having to say that I ran out into the street to prove something,
that he didn't love me,
that I wanted to be possessed, thrown over, that I wanted to have the wounds
nailed shut.
I want to tell you this story without having to be in it:
Max in the wrong clothes. Max at the party, drunk again.
Max in the kitchen, in refrigerator Ught, his hands around the neck of a beer.
Tell me we're dead and I'll love you
even more.
I'm surprised that I say it with feeling.
There's a thing in my stomach about this. A simple thing. The last rung.
-Richard Siken, Crush
But once in a while the odd thing happens,
Once in a while the dream comes true,
And the whole pattern of life is altered,
Once in a while the moon turns blue.
-“As I Walked Out One Evening”, W. H. Auden, 1937
And it all comes back, it all comes back
It all comes back to you
Oh, it all comes back, it all comes back
It all comes back to you
Nothing you love can ever be forgotten. You can always go back.
-IF, 2024 🎬
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One of them would be on the side of the mountain with sheep and a speckled doe. I'd hunt eggs each morning, knit sweaters made of wool. Or, I'd be a man in New York, thighs on the subway spread like a little god. Learn to move through the world without flinching. Or maybe I'd marry myself to a piano, play tunes on the second floor of a townhouse in Prague.
Watch all my neighbors dance. Maybe I'd write a book about moonglades or master the soufflé. See opera at the Teatro Colón. Pluck foxgloves on the Western Cape. Or maybe,
Id hurry back to this life, the one where you are standing beside the open window looking drowsy and beautiful, a half-eaten pear in your left hand. What?
You ask, handing me the other half while we silently watch the rain.
-Joy Sullivan, "If I Had a Hundred Lives”
“And even now in the gathering dark of a late afternoon in December, of one more year stretching between us, I think of you. I remember.”
— Tom Hansen, from “December Monologue,
To all light things
I compared her; to
a snowflake, a feather.
I remember she rested
at the dance on my
arm, as a bird
on its nest lest
eggs break, lest
she lean too heavily
on our love. Snow
melts, feathers
are blown away;
I have let
her ashes down
in me like an anchor.
"Comparisons" by R.S. Thomas
Do you have any weapons on you?
I have a longing that's killing me.
-Mahmoud Darwish, Memory for Forgetfulness, August, Beirut, 1982
If you think of someone enough, you’re sure to meet them again
-Haruki Murakami
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It's pouring, the trees are getting greener before my eyes, I love you. A little over three weeks left. I'm almost afraid of the intensity of that happiness.
-Vladimir Nabakov, letters to vera
Won't admit what I already know
I've never been the best at letting go
-Stay, Alessia Cara