#fragmented (musings)

[saetiate]

caleb helping you “practice” for when you get a boyfriend, showing you everything from how he should buy you flowers, how he should treat you at a date, to how he should eat you out, how he should let you lie back, to ease you onto his cock gently so it doesn’t hurt…

it doesn’t count, of course. it’s all just practice, right?

[xyywrites]

"We loved like wildfire—beautiful, destructive, and impossible to contain."

[mournfulroses]

Alexander Blok, from a poem titled "To The Muse," featured in The Twelve & Other Poems

[lunaetis]

when eden is in love with you, you feel the weight of her affection. it's not a weighing burden or expectation — no, it's nothing like that. but it's the weight and depth of her feelings towards you. it's the weight of her entirety, of her very person, of her existence, of the meaning of her life. you see what you are to her when she looks at you. she's transparent about it, unable to hide the feeling in her gaze in the way her eyes landed on you. you see what you mean to her when she looks at you, the grounding anchor that you are to an existence that was created to house the seed of disaster. how does it feel to become someone's reason of living ? for her to look at you like you are her entire world ?

when she gets closer to you, it is of yearn, of longing, with a hint of hesitation. not of her feelings for you but of what her hands are capable of, of fear that the power within her would burn you away until you are no more. her touch is always warm, sometimes almost searing. it's always soft and careful. she touches you like she's afraid she'd break you, but the way she leans into your palm when you touch her tells you how she craves your touch. while she isn't sure if a weapon like herself deserves this kindness, she covets it oh so desperately. touch me. love me. make me yours. i belong only to you.

her eyes search for you in the crowd, the liquid gold in those hues light up instantly once they spot you. the light of her life, you are, and she makes sure you know it every single time your eyes meet. her gaze seems to cast far away like she's looking beyond the present, but when it directs at you, it does not waver, and it does not break from your very being. she has her world reflect right in her eyes, you thought. it is so phenomenal that it is the shape of you.

when she calls your name, it feels like a prayer, like a secret, like she's pledging a vow. it sounds sacred on her tongue, like she'd rather pray to you than any gods and deities out there. and perhaps she does. the word ' love ' doesn't fall from her lips often, but when she connects it to your name, you know, oh you just know that she means it. you know that she would burn down the world for you, that she would paint her hands red with others' blood just to hear your heartbeat. that she would make a villain out of herself if that's what it takes to save you.

your eyes meet hers.

and it finally dawns on you ...

... this is what it's like to be loved by the vessel of the stellaron your eden.

[blushingxpilgrims]

i could tell you now

or bite my tongue

until it bleeds

and hide you in between

the lines of my poetry

—i could tell you, 2024

[harbingersecho]

misrecognition is not ignorance

[prosebyday]

After years of skimming books, Skipping chapters, spoiling endings – You decided to read me differently.  To caress the spine gently, savor every moment Linger on each word, softly turn each page To take things slowly.  That’s what we said.  You scribbled your annotations Dogeared my corners And tore out every page of me worth something On your journey of self discovery. I’m left splayed open, torn, jagged. we never made it to the end,  You decided it wasn’t fair to keep stringing me along After you already strung me along. You took me back to the beginning To the bench that started it all,  you spoke the words to end it You care more about the symmetry, the symbolism, than the cruelty of leaving me crying in the cold. I know exactly who I am, I can recall those pages by memory, I'll rewrite them, tuck them in gently. I might just be a little sloppy until I find the time to stitch my booklets and refinish my binding But you're left with my fragments. You still don't know who you are, who I am, you've learned nothing. You projected onto me never saw me as an equal and used me to try to grow. All you've done is take and hurt. Many years my elder and far less mature.

I am not the solution to your identity crisis // Grazia Curcuru

[leneemusing]

"and when the night gave way to the early dawn, and the sun tried to warm me, i found i had grown all too accustomed to the coldness of the shadows. i wished for it like a child cries for the tatters of a blanket it has outgrown."

[ruminiscence]

Paris: A Year Abroad in a short film

Audio: "Burnt Norton" by Lana Del Rey, a rendition of the original poem "Burnt Norton" by T.S. Eliot.

Where do I even start? Paris has wholly shaped me in ways I never imagined. We refer to Paris as the city of love, but I'm now more inclined to call it the city of art - which only leaves more room for love in your heart. There is so much to contemplate and appreciate in frequenting the vast array of art museums here - from the Louvre, Musée d’Orsay, Musée de l’Orangerie, the Centre Georges Pompidou, and many more. Not only has my perspective on art expanded, but so has my worldview. That’s because art is truly everywhere in this city; art can be found in the walkable streets amidst the rich architecture, the fashionable outfits seen in daily life, and even the exquisite decor in stores and when you cheekily peek into Parisian appartments!

There's always something new to discover in Paris, I'm almost saddened at the thought of the things I've yet to discover or missed. The treasures to unveil in Paris move far beyond the typical tourist hotspots we all know and love. I am obsessed with Parisian boutiques; they are chic and unique (that unintentionally rhymed) in the best way possible. One of my favourites is La Tonkinoise à Paris, located in the 11th arrondissement. This particular arrondissmenet is the best in Paris to be honest, it holds a special place in my heart as I had the wonderful opportunity of living there, so perhaps you can say that I am somewhat biased. Still, I can confidently say that this animated, hip and creative neighbourhood is one everyone should have the chance to explore.

La Tonkinoise à Paris, owned by the lovely Chantal, is my favourite hidden gem in Paris. I had the pleasure of befriending Chantal as I ended up frequenting her store one too many times; I've garnered quite a collection over time. This boutique offers a wide range of eccentric and sustainable jewellery, with her earring creations being the show stoppers, in my opinion. Her jewellery is composed of rings, pearls, brooches, charms, and watches, all unearthed in flea markets and recycled. I love that every piece of jewellery indeed is a unique piece. The decor changes based on the season and theme of her new collections, making it an ever-changing and exciting shopping experience. This is honestly the best jewellery store I have ever been to in my life! I wish the pictures I took could do the jewellery and the boutique's decor justice, but it simply won't, I'm afraid.

Now, onto food, I genuinely need to figure out where to start here. My favourite authentic French restaurant would have to be 'Le Potager du Père Thierry', located in Montmartre. Although it's incredibly small, I love the cosy vibe; I feel like I can enjoy delicious food with friends without feeling surrounded by strangers. Surprisingly, it's also very quiet (yet packed) - I guess the food is just too distracting.

As of late, my favourite non-french restaurant has to be 'Big Black Cook' (let's ignore how inappropriate that pun is, though funny). It's located in the 2nd arrondissement and serves Caribbean food, my friend claims that it was the best meat she's had!

For brunch, I recommend Café Méricourt in the 11th arrondissement. Their green Eggs & Feta are absolutely incredible and quite innovative as far as brunch places go.

As for a boulangerie - seriously, anywhere, literally anywhere in Paris, go to your nearest bakery; there need not be a big fuss - you're in for a scrumptious baked treat regardless!

I'm ever so grateful for the chance to have lived in Paris for an extended period; you cannot appreciate Paris in its entire splendour from a mere short-term visit. The city is an actual work of art; art is everywhere in the city, from the street performers and musicians, the light filters through the trees, the city's many architecturally rich bridges, the picturesque cafés and boulangeries, the beautifully presented food, the way that the city's many different neighbourhoods each have their own distinct character and vibe. In Paris, art is everywhere.

[xyywrites]

“There’s no safety net—just the cold, hard reality of jumping off cliffs and praying there’s a soft landing somewhere in the chaos.”

[mournfulroses]

May Sarton, from Gods & Mortals: Modern Poems on Classics; "The Muse as Medusa,"

[wordsfromwise]

[lunaetis]

─「エデン」─  should the end be nothing but tragedy, be of losses and agony and countless tears to be shed, the end where one would be left screaming until your voice is hoarse and nothing came out —

— i would still let myself fall for you.

because every second that you were in my life is worth all the pain. the touch of your hand upon mine, the sound of your heartbeat echoing softly against my own whirring seed of destruction, the warmth i felt when you uttered my name.

when you call me yours, that's what give this life a meaning.

if i were a weapon, i'd destroy anything standing in the way of your happiness. because i am a weapon, i know i could belong to no one else.

it's worth it because you love me. it's worth it because you let me love you.

when all of this comes to an end ...

... call me yours one more time.

because that's what i am ... i am yours.

right, lingyun ? ( @rvinfall )

[blushingxpilgrims]

look at me

i’m so poetic

(it’s pathetic)

how often i write about you

—pathetic, 2023

[pumpk-n]

I could despise you, for how the sun seems to favor your kissed hair

but let me run to you as quick as possible, for how my fingers belong between those threads

holy is the one who lies, with you as the cicadas sing

Yet even Psyche’s wreath of ivy soured and left her scorned from the temples

Weave violets instead my cherubim, let their syrup stain your fingers

for the nymphs are drawn to the ambrosia that is their birth right,

and are more likely to be swayed for favor than the gods.

inspired by Sappho’s fragment 81, written by me 🌸

[prosebyday]

Since I met you  I said it felt like we sold our souls to the devil  And God was punishing us— Everyone thought I was crazy. There were storm clouds everyday, warning me with the loud clap of thunder before zapping me with lightning.  I think that was God telling me to get out, find someplace safe, and I didn’t listen. The pieces are falling back into place,  But I don’t feel the same as I did before. Now I feel like the storm cloud, bawling my eyes out, flinching in fear, and getting brain zaps. But at least there’s light around me. I’m free from your grasp.

Everyone around you suffered except you, maybe you were the devil all along // Grazia Curcuru