a pure drink
Dear Laura

I am awkward and heavy handed, my fingers are clumsy and my teeth sharp. I create and destroy in my own little world. I build things up and tear them down in my mind in an instant. I’ll raze whole planets in a minute. I’m developing a God complex as a result. I pretend that someone else’s tongue in my mouth will give me something to say. I break people in the process of trying to fix them. One day I will wake up and be surrounded by nothing but ash and the matchbox will be in my hand and the only thing I will have left to set ablaze will be myself. I am a little too much of everything, and that is why it is hard to be with me. I will stop expecting anything different.

Laura, I was prepared for everything with you. I was even prepared for you to leave. But I wasn’t prepared for how easily you did it.

brendanshea95:

“It went from butterflies fluttering in my stomach to bees stinging in my heart.”

brendanshea95:

“It went from butterflies fluttering in my stomach to bees stinging in my heart.”

Dear Laura

For me, it was as simple as this. I wanted so badly to need someone, yet I could never get myself to do it. I wanted so badly for someone else to have what I was looking for, but even if they did, it wasn’t enough. No matter what I end up back here, leaning only on myself, finding no refuge from my own terrible embrace. Finding no escape from my own hard shoulder. You can get so used to anything that you can fall in love with it. And I fell in love, early on, with prison.

Headless Horseman
The Microphones

Oh, what a loss
I miss my closest friend
And now I cling to rocks and wind

It’s a precious thing we lost

fiore-rosso:

Heikkinen-Komonen ArchitectsThe National Gallery of GreenlandNuuk, Greenland

fiore-rosso:

Heikkinen-Komonen Architects
The National Gallery of Greenland
Nuuk, Greenland

Dear Laura

I’ve convinced myself that I’ve discovered the secret to time travel. The past and present are two lines that intersect at a certain point in a plane whose conditions are dictated by so many variables that its existence is almost, but not quite, impossible. I’m thinking of the last time we saw each other, the day we spent sitting on my car and when you jumped off and stood up you rubbed your eyes, talking about the silver spots that were flying across your vision.

If I can remember every detail properly, if I drive back to that exact spot at the right time of day, wearing the same clothes and binding my hair up in the same way, listening to the same song and blinking in the same rhythm, breathing at the same shallow pace and thinking the same stupid thoughts I did that day, I’ll manipulate every variable and reach that point in time again, and I’ll open my eyes and see you there next to me, rubbing your eyes with your thumbs. From the point I occupy now, I’ll go zooming backwards, we all will, past that fateful day where you’ll open your eyes and stand up, seal your wrists with a pair of kitchen scissors, put them back in your drawer and unwrite your last note. You’ll go to my house and put your arms around my brother and walk backwards up the stairs to the door of my room. I close my eyes and imagine it all, your hair flying out of your face in the wind and me turning towards you instead of away, the night where you’ll meet my brother, the first time I see you. I’ve discovered time travel, Laura, and I’m going to take you back to the place we all felt safe.