diving-in-naxos

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David Mitchell, Slade House

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“Someone told you once: a soulmate is not the one who makes you the happiest, but the one who makes you feel the most. Who can conduct your heart to bang the loudest. Who can drag you giggling with forgiveness from the cellar they locked you in.”

— Sierra DeMulder, The Unrequited Love Poem (via nyclocale)

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It's time.

I’m washing the paint off my hands, and thinking about how it feels like a lot of my memories are slowly, warmly, slipping out of my grasp. A small hiccup as it reaches the drain, then swirls as it descends. 

I can’t remember certain things. I can’t remember the phone number of the first house that I was raised in. I can’t remember my second kiss. I can’t remember the first boy who told me he loved me.

I can’t remember names. I can’t remember the name of the boy I adored in the 1st grade, back when I was built and looked like a boy myself. I can’t remember the name of the guy who beat me in pool three weeks ago then asked if he could kiss me on the cheek. I remember I told him no. 

I can’t remember the last time I let rain fall freely onto my face. I can’t remember the last time I stubbed my toe. I can’t remember the last time I let my soul sweep along with the plot of a movie. Mostly, because a lot of my life feels like a movie.

I can remember my first concert. I can remember the name of the boy who was my first kiss, where it was, and who all else was in the apartment. I can remember my ex boyfriend telling me that he loved me over the phone in jumbled exclamations of confusion. 

I can remember hugging my sister goodbye before she went to go board her plane to Alaska at 4am in Philadelphia. I can remember my mother making me a Robin Hood costume when I was 6 years old. I remember painting my bedroom the same style as a torn out page from a Martha Stewart magazine, the year I was going to be a teenager. I remember I hated it by my sophomore year.

I remember a friend telling me that a former friend had passionately declared that she “hated me”. I remember a boy with rough hands, sharp eyes and a soft mouth who spent a summer telling me how pretty I was to him. I remember when I threw my first party and someone threw up on a rug I had bought especially for the party. I remember I was outside when it happened telling my brother that I knew best, and inwardly berating him for his smoking habit. 

I remember an Alabama boy with a wide grin and kind eyes telling me secrets over the phone when I was 20. I remember greeting the sunrise with teary eyes, bad breath and a will to do something good with my day.

I remember last week. I remember what music was playing from the jukebox, and my friend Nate was whistling along to the tune. I remember the light coming into the room, and the score on the pool table. I remember he was my partner that day. Trusting me. Laughing and smiling with us all. I remember seeing him a couple days later, and he hugged me and called me sweetheart. I remember laughing and telling him he had to be my pool partner again. 

Nate was in a car accident last night, and now he’s gone. I remember this morning getting a call at 7:30am letting me know, seeing all the dedications to this man, today. I remember spending today drinking a lot of water. I remember sanding and painting my kitchen cabinets. I remember I nearly lost the entire gallon of paint when I knocked it over. 

I can’t remember if I said goodbye to Nate last week or if I just waved and smiled. 

I can remember, and I can’t. I’m just selfish and I don’t want to lose anything, or let anything slip away. 

[diving-in-naxos]

Only yesterday I was kissed on the top of my head, only yesterday I was baking lavender cookies and dyeing my hair. Sometimes whales will leave home mid-song and return months later to finish it, as if there had been no interruption. Dirty water fills up my sink like a lung.

Gale Marie Thompson, “Animal Spotting,” published in Route Nine (via bostonpoetryslam)

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ultimate relationship goals are going camping together to watch the stars wrapped up in a bunch of blankets and just enjoy this earth together agh

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I swear to all that is holy, I will kiss those dimples right off your face

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16.2 ▪️ Karl-Shakur  ▪️ Instagram ▪️ My Editing Process Black Spur, Victoria AU

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Torres Del Paine | Tobias Hägg

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Beautiful interiors by Alberta Prairies

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do u ever remember all the horrible offensve things u said when u were like 15 and u literally feel ur soul detach and turn 2 dust 

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Everything happens for a reason. 

Black Mirror, Hang The DJ (2017) dir. Timothy Van Patten

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camping

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(via Amberly_Dzimira)