After far too much delay, I've finally just sat down & watched The Brothers Bloom, & I have to get this out! Phen, it was so, so, SO beautiful. BEYOND what I could have hoped to discover, even with all the great things from it you've brought to my attention. & Phen, m'dear, I swear I saw at least a glimmer of you in all the characters. From spunk, to ADVENTURER, to poet, to magical, to twinkly eyes! So, thank you SO much for inadvertently introducing me to a beautiful film. <3
This makes me happy in so many different ways I must must must share it with everyone else! It’s one of my favorite movies of all time, I’m sososo excited to hear that you loved it just as much as I do.
AND! WHAT A COMPLIMENT! Thank you so much for seeing me in some of these characters that I’m absolutely in love with <3 <3 <3
I find myself imagining you in crowded, lonely coffeehouses. Sifting through daydreams like grains of sand and letting your drink become a chilled ghost of the warmth it once was. And then I imagine what it would be like if I stopped imagining you and I can’t tell which one would make me happier.
Maybe you’ve outgrown the old coffeehouses you loved so dearly like you outgrew your hometown and football and our friendship. Maybe you’re better at telling the truth now. Maybe you’ve stopped caring about guilt. Maybe you’re less selfish.
I try to imagine these things in you. Not because I believe you to be capable of them, but rather because I believed you were honest and sincere and gracious. Finding out you weren’t took more out of me than loving you did.
I believed in your words and your smiles and your kindnesses. I believed in you with more assurance than I believed in myself. And now I don’t believe in anyone.
On days I don’t imagine you, I still battle, sometimes bravely and sometimes with only cowardice, the quivering organ that used to be my heart. My misplaced trust in you has led me to mistrust everyone.
Sometimes I confuse that with missing you.
But I could never miss you. Because you danced around our friendship shielded by masks so distracting and intricate while I laid bare and heartbroken. I volunteered you as my savior and you never declined.
I’ve fallen asleep with my hand holding the heartbeats of someone else’s hand. I grasp and try to communicate my pleas and promises in the intertwining of our fingers. I wish that I could tell you more; I’m trying my best, said with a squeeze or the tracing of my thumb across theirs.
I am trying my best, all things considered.
So don’t come to Chicago. Your feet don’t belong on these streets; these buildings, pathways and pedestrians, and these stories are not for your ears or eyes or heart. Stay wherever it is that your life has led you. Smile in every photograph that is taken of you and let people wonder how genuine you are. Fly, walk, run, drive to anywhere in the world, but let Chicago be mine. Let me spend some sporadic time imagining that you are better than you were, or else let me spend some time remembering who I used to be while forgetting who you are.
“i learn and relearn that silence doesn’t protect me. an unexpressed life is very painful to myself and those i love. don’t love halfway. i am learning that loving all the way can ache and sting, but loving halfway doesn’t keep me safe. it leaves me with sadness and a hope that could never live outloud.”—sabrina ward harrison
'Do you love me?' She whispered into the crook of his neck, as they laid underneath purple sheets, making their nighttime darkness even darker. They reveled in their solitude.
'I do,' he said. 'I do love you.' He felt her lips shift into a smile.
‘I love you, too.’ She said carefully, walking her fingers along his collarbone.
He looked at her and smiled in return. ‘You are my favorite monster.’
He was her favorite kind of poetry. The chestnut brown, constant mess which was his hair — left in turmoil from running his hands through it whenever concentrating. His unnaturally dark eyes, and the languid movement of his mouth when he spoke.
'Do you remember what I told you when we first met?' He asked this quietly, as though sharing a secret, though they were quite alone.
‘I do,’ she answered, grinning once more into his skin. ‘Say it again.’
‘Of all the adventures in all the world; of all the demons to conquer and the monsters to make and the stories to tell — There is nothing quite so magical,’ he paused, traced the angle of her jaw, and kissed her. ‘As the adventure of you.’
“thank You God for most this amazing
day: for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue dream of sky;and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes
(i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun’s birthday;this is the birth
day of life and love and wings;and of the gay
great happening ilimitably earth)
how should tasting touching hearing seeing
breathing any - lifted from the no
of all nothing - human merely being
doubt unimaginable You?
(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)”—e.e. cummings (via fishingboatproceeds)