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Well

Beautiful stranger behind my screen,

We only talked for the briefest of times before I had to leave.

I didn’t get a chance to really get much of a read on you, and perhaps that’s for the best.

You were very pretty, though.

Your hair was a fluffy blonde, bleached I would guess, with what I think was bits of blue.

You’re a musician with an earnest face, at least that’s what I’d like to deduce.

I didn’t stick around to read your response to my last message, I feared you’d be passé, which would honestly be fair.

You’ve stayed in the back of my mind all week, but I know I can’t return yet. I’m not ready for that just now.

Perhaps if you don’t have much luck, once I am ready we can strike up a new conversation. One in which I’m able to give you my full attention, and one where perhaps you’d be kind enough to give me yours.

Stay vigilant, fellow seeker. Both our times will come, even if they are not intertwined.

[bittersweet-t3aya]

“There will always be a person who looks like a poem the earth wrote to keep you alive.”

— Juansen Dizon

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was there ever one lifetime together, untumultuous, and calm? not just two passing jet streams crossing lifelines in the sky?

if i can dream it, then surely, there must have been at least one;

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will you grace me with your thoughts, divine to me through tarot cards the things that stir in your heart?

i long to know, to understand, whether i may die content knowing i've moved even a god—

[bittersweet-t3aya]

Beautiful stranger behind my screen,

We only talked for the briefest of times before I had to leave.

I didn’t get a chance to really get much of a read on you, and perhaps that’s for the best.

You were very pretty, though.

Your hair was a fluffy blonde, bleached I would guess, with what I think was bits of blue.

You’re a musician with an earnest face, at least that’s what I’d like to deduce.

I didn’t stick around to read your response to my last message, I feared you’d be passé, which would honestly be fair.

You’ve stayed in the back of my mind all week, but I know I can’t return yet. I’m not ready for that just now.

Perhaps if you don’t have much luck, once I am ready we can strike up a new conversation. One in which I’m able to give you my full attention, and one where perhaps you’d be kind enough to give me yours.

Stay vigilant, fellow seeker. Both our times will come, even if they are not intertwined.

[bittersweet-t3aya]

I believe I will always think of the two-hour drive, the nerves sitting in the parking lot waiting for you to come into view, our awkward first words, the chocolate you bought me, how we sat on the floor to watch The Nice Guys before moving onto the bed twenty minutes in, the tea and lemonade I’d brought to share, your roommate coming back in a few times, the call you took from your grandmother, the kisses we shared, walking past the local carnival to go get dinner, the gorgeous sunset that I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk to photograph, and our first kiss goodbye.

I will think on all of these things fondly. All of these things I will remember when I hear this song.

You loved this band. You’re how I found it.

I do hope you’re doing better.

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I think it’s all settling into the sockets of my mind.

You didn’t abuse me, you didn’t mistreat me. You didn’t purposefully hurt me.

But you did lie. You did keep things from me. You disrespected what weak grasp of my religion I still have, you hailed your own gods as higher than mine to my face. You led me on, you started something you weren’t ready for with someone who would have swam the ocean and drowned for you.

And now I don’t know what to believe. I don’t know if you meant any of what you said to me.

I’m beginning to lose my sympathy for you, beautiful liar.

[bittersweet-t3aya]

what love can be

love is like water

for a second, it can be grasped

after a while, it flows down your palms as if it was never there

ready to take another form again

love is like fire

for a while, it warms the skin

but burns the soul from within

ready to transform you

love is like the wind

seldom mellow, always flowing

gentle breeze of affection

but can wrap up a storm if it wants to

love is fluid

love breathes

love is me

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I’m always soft for you, that’s the problem. You could come knocking on my door five years from now and I would open my arms wider and say ‘come here, it’s been too long, it felt like home with you.

Azra.T

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Your Face.

Beautifully deeply pigmented pinks are the scars that have become deeper and penetrate into your skin.

You hate it.

My gaze follows the dents, curves, and twists in your face, admiring the contour of your face. Making the shape so uniquely beautiful with symmetry.

You hate it.

The hidden shape that peaks through with your fair skin reminds me of snow. The thin, cold ice that covers lakes. Tall and sharp.

You hate it.

I can't help but become caught in your deep, dark brown, nearly black eyes—they are so full of thoughts. A void. Even with the brilliance, it remains empty and beautiful.

I adore it.

[bittersweet-t3aya]

A super special bonus message for today - because, I truly do wish you all peace of mind at this time. ✌you all deserve it! Stay hopeful out there folks. Only smiles here. ☺❤ Side note: I set this note on a special wishing tree in a gorgeously blooming garden. Maybe someday you will come across it. Who knows? 🌼 ~ 🌹 ~ 🌞 ~ 🐝 ~ 🌼

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Khalil Gibran

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Nghiem Tran, from "Asking My Mother about Her Childhood"

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i am tortured by you, haunted by echoes of a lifetime long passed by this one, and i swear to god it's you: the sound of your voice— compelling my anguished soul, compulsively calling for you, to howl like a lost pup and a dead man's wife.

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Nine

I´m sitting on your bedroom floor, going through boxes upon boxes of your things and suddenly I'm nine again, playing with your jewelry and asking you questions that you'll answer with a smile. I'm nine and the sunlight is hitting the ring I hold just right so the light bounces around the ceiling. I'm nine and the clip-on earrings are hurting my ears but I´m not going to take them off because they´re yours and they are ever so pretty. I´m nine and you tell me to put down the necklace that I´m holding because ¨ That's over 100 years old Lovebug, I don´t want you breaking that. It´ll be yours soon enough.¨

And now I´m not nine. The necklace IS mine. I´m sitting on your bedroom floor, wishing with all my heart that you would tell me to put the necklace down, that it isn´t mine just yet. Now I´m not nine, and there is no sunlight to bounce off of the rings that I sort into piles, to donate or give to family. Now I´m not nine and the earrings that I carefully pack away are so much duller than I remember them. Now I'm not nine, I´m sitting on your bedroom floor with piles of jewelry surrounding me, remembering all the questions I forgot to ask while I still could.

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Kate Baer, from What Kind of Woman: Poems; “To take back a life”

[Text ID: “the hunger to be held, to be wanted, to / be called from the streets like the family / dog. You are not a good girl. You are not / somebody’s otherness.”]