awriter-fromspace

[awriter-fromspace]

It’s strange

Waking up to you

Seeing you

Bathed in the light

Of the morning sun

I’m not complaining, promise

I don’t even care

The glint of that golden band

On your hand

I can see from here

Say what you will

I said I don’t care

A physical manifestation

Of what you feel

Will always be better than words

An action I can see

Something real I can hold

Not a pretty breath

Promised to the wind

Floating away like storm clouds

You really are the best of me

You really get it too

I take what I want

You give without thought

It kind of works

And those things that exist outside

This world we’ve built right here and now,

They don’t have to bother us

Right now, not here

Where the morning sun bathes you in light

[awriter-fromspace]

Home to your mother

He wakes from darkness into a brilliant light. He blinks to clear his vision, and the picture focuses into a village he knew and loved as a child. The air is blue and green, a bright sun somewhere overhead. The path he stands on is dirt and lined with colorful single level houses. Tin roofs jauntily set atop blue and red and yellow painted bricks. In the distance to one side stands a volcano mountain, impassively looking out over the land, uncaring or unimpressed, he has never been sure. Though he can not see the people, the sound of life flows into the street from the buildings. Voices and music, chatter, calls from vendors, interloped with guitars and accordion. This place, so far in his memory, is so real now in front of him. He walks down the road, and he begins to smell, too, the peeled fruits and maize tortillas and candies. Dogs bark at him, strays waiting to be fed and loved. It is all exactly as he left it once so long ago, before the time and the war left it burned and black. There is only one thing missing from this perfect dream, and as he nears the end of the street, he hears it. A woman calls his name from far away, leading him further down the path that now turns almost to forrest as the houses and buildings thin and dissappear. One last house comes into view among the trees, and he waves to the neighbors, though no one stands there to wave back. The call comes again, a little impatient, and he hurries to the dead end of the road. His own home, sitting as he remembers it, just as they left it, appears to his right. Down the small path that leads to their front door, standing on the porch, is his mother, wearing her usual dress and apron. He didn't know he missed her so much. He runs to her and hugs her and finds that he barely comes up past her knees. He lets her pick his child self up into a tight hug. He is happy, and there is only one thing left to wonder about. But his siblings and his father are still fighting, still marching. It is not yet their time to come home. He is happy to wait.

[awriter-fromspace]

If a dream were a penny, shiny and new, solid to hold like the butt of a spoon, then I would think, as often I do, it would be nicer to hold only a few. Instead of so many, the ones I can’t follow, the ones that die quickly at the dawn of tomorrow. It would be better, I think, to lighten the load, from the big pile, get rid of the old. There’s too many dreams, more than I can count, so many flow in my head, an impossible amount. They drift slowly through, like clouds in the sky, slow enough to watch, but quickly they fly by.

[awriter-fromspace]

It’s hard to understand

Whenever you say

A simple word like

Hey

It’s difficult to know

What a single word

Can hold

In its pure form

When said so

Strongly

But nothing follows

I don’t understand

What people mean

When they look at me

And say

Hi

So softly

As if they don’t

Want to talk at all

As if they don’t

See me or who

I am

It’s difficult to understand

When someone

Comes along

And says to me

Hello

As if I’m supposed

To know what

They mean

When they speak

It to me

So quietly

I don’t understand

People

Day to day

The things that

They say

The way they

Speak to me

To each other

Who knows what

We mean

As we speak

Not to scream

Not to cry

Instead

Of the words

That were said

I don’t understand

When we speak

Of our dreams

When we say

To each other

Someday

Someday

In the future

Forever

It comes with a price

When we say

Not what we mean

But instead

What we believe

We want to hear

Or the other

And we tell each other

Simple lies

Impossible truths

Higher up than

We can reach

Hard to say

Hard to speak

Somebody

Communicate

The words to me

It’s difficult to know

To understand

As they say

When the images

We see in

Dreams

Don’t translate

To words

In the light of day

What do we become

As the words

Push us further away

From who we are

And closer

To those things

They believe us to be

What they want us

To be

It becomes so difficult

Once again

And over and over

When we say

Such small things

Like hey

Wait for the words

The right thing

To come flowing free

And in the end

Who are we

If we say

Or don’t say

If we speak

What we mean

Or not speak

At all

Believe it or don’t

Does it change

Who we are?

It’s hard to understand

What to say

When people think

You say nothing

Tomorrow or today

At the end of it all

Do we speak

And stand tall

Is there a moment

When we fall

[awriter-fromspace]

6/22

i have trouble saying

certain things

like i love you

even to you

but you know

don't you

when i take your hand

when i get lost

staring at you

when i kiss you

on the nose

some words

aren't enough anyway

to say exactly

everything i feel

so instead

i look at you

as deeply as i can

and i try

to come up with

better words than this

i adore you, you know

[awriter-fromspace]

Sometimes you just miss out. You can tell yourself "it wasn't meant to be" or "I'll get 'em next time" but it doesn't make it true. Sometimes it's your fault. You wait a moment too long, a breath more than you should, and someone else is chatting up the person across the bar you've been eyeing. You overthink your qualifications for a job, rework your resume until you can recite it, and by the time you're ready to apply, it's closed. You question your ability to sing, whether it's good enough, and it's too late to get on the list for kareoke. Yes, often, it's your own fault. Like living with an overbearing twin, one who questions your every move, yet you can't bring yourself to evict them. A life sentence of your own making. You think too much and you miss out.

[awriter-fromspace]

Springtime Blossoms

Pink and white slowly paint the landscape, little buds blinking open their eyes, faces turned, in praise, to the sky. They feel out of place, sudden color in a grey world, like a light blinking on in the darkness. It rains. A lot. So they are hope shining across the sea, the broad searching light that guides you home. Close your eyes for a moment and even their scent is a guide back to yourself. A deep breath of clarity. The sun finally cutting through the clouds. The ease of future dreams is spread across their branches like a promise. A sirens call away from the turbulent, drowning waves of winter. Their pretty little heads beckon you toward a better day, carelessly bobbing in the wind, asking you to join their uninhibited play. They don't expect anything from the world, they don't expect anything back for the joy they give. They simply exist and, in their existence, they become a lifeline. Something to hold on tight to while the last bits of freeze evaporate under the ever closer sun.

[awriter-fromspace]

Please let these men kiss and make up thx

[awriter-fromspace]

[awriter-fromspace]

My mom just sent me this picture of my dog…I guess we got a lot of snow, then

[awriter-fromspace]

Psych (4x07) ‣ High Top Fade Out

“I never wanted to punch Lassiter before today.” “Really?

[awriter-fromspace]

[both whispering angrily]

[awriter-fromspace]

(via meanboysclub)

[awriter-fromspace]

Fire tornado soap bubble

[awriter-fromspace]

bruce wayne maintains a presence on all conspiracy theory boards with the screen name BruceWayneIsTheBatman and all his posts have titles like “BRUCE WAINE IS BAT-MAN INDISPUTABLE PROOF” and it’s just a picture of Bruce Wayne from the back next to a picture of Batman from behind and they both have the contours of their butt drawn on in a shitty MSPaint red line (note: Bruce is in a suit and Batman has a cape, neither of their butts are clearly discernible) and the quote “THE BUTTS MATCH!!! THE FACTS DON’T LIE!!!!!” and he makes at least three of these posts a day, and “Bruce Wayne is the Batman” becomes a meme a la “Ted Cruz is the Zodiac Killer” and he gets asked about it on a talk show and he laughs uproariously at the idea and Stephen Colbert just HAPPENS to have a batman mask under the desk and they do a bit together where Bruce Wayne puts on the mask and walks around saying things like “excuse me, bank robbers, can I perhaps offer you some money to stop you robbing this bank?” and “I say, cease and desist your criminal behavior or I’ll have my butler ask you to leave” and the audience is LOSING THEIR MINDS laughing at the idea of this pampered rich guy taking on the Joker on a bi-weekly basis and then anyone who suggests “Bruce Wayne is Batman” in earnest gets met with mocking “oh man do the butts match” comments

[awriter-fromspace]

BURTON ‘FEARLESS’ GUSTER

[awriter-fromspace]