the foxy wuvins!
You’ll love someone so much that in those moments- in those nights you spend trying to scrape their name away from the spaces in your rib cage, in the mornings you wake to find that they’ve clawed back in again- you will convince yourself that they are never going to leave. That winter will push silently into spring, petals bursting into summer, sunshine leaking into rainfall, but the seasons of your heart will still bow to the reasons in their soul. You will steal glances at them from across the room and wonder when the sight of that smile will stop breaking cocoons in your stomach, stop making tornadoes in your head, stop sending poems shuddering down your spine.
You’ll love someone so much that it will stop being about them taking a piece of you, and will become about the way they crawled inside and spray painted every shard with their name just so you will never be the same again. You’ll peel back your skin and find remnants of the way they used to make you feel splintering through your bones, and you’ll wonder if you’ll ever grow out of this.
Basically, there are people out there in this world that are so unbelievably exquisite that even space won’t stop you from falling because the only gravity you will need will rest in the way they say your name when they love you too. But most of the time, it will feel as though these people are too busy to deal with your heart, to try to understand its beat, to help it sing a softer song. And it will take you nights and dawns full with your fingers through your chest trying to screech them away again and again, until one day you learn to unclench your fist. You learn to let them be where they are- inside of you, despite of you. You get up off the floor of your faith and start walking again, start stepping out out of yourself to smell the sunshine in the spring time air, to feel the snow fall when winter kisses trees bare. You’ll belong to yourself again.
You’ll realise that people find you in seasons, and autumn will always come where the leaving begins to bloom. You’ll understand somehow through the light that leaks from the slit between the door of your despair and the ground you built beneath it, that if that person who you were so unendurably in love with can walk away and out of your life without a second glance, the ache they brought with them can pack its bags too. You will realise this slowly, silently, subtly- that maybe one morning the sun will yawn through your windowpane and you won’t long for them anymore. You will belong to yourself again. And maybe the next time you fall, your gravity might stay put right in the heart of your chest- just a little to the left.
I think the cinematography in this video is amazing, perfectly capturing the feel of the song. And I think it’s very appropriate, at least for every relationship I’ve ever been in.
The important question is: Why are we as a society so obsessed with violence?
Am I wrong in my previous lifelong assumption that relationships should not have this violent, antagonistic component? Or is that just the way things are, at least for now? Or for always?
Passion is movies is wonderful, and violence and danger are often used to heighten the sense of it, I believe. But in real life a shouting match is not even remotely fun or romantic in any of my experiences of it.
I’m honestly still trying to figure out if love, as I define it, is actually real at all, or if we’re just emotionally-trigger happy monkeys that are occasionally philosophizers, but most of the time trapped in the playground of reactive emotions, intense and fleeting, but as inclined towards destruction as any sort of creation, and not yet developed enough for the maintenance of actual healthy relationship patterns.
I wish I could offer you
a heart that beats better:
soothes hurt by loving instead
of hurting because of love,
but all I can offer you is a glance
at my own and hope you find
comfort in knowing that there are
hearts that beat exactly like yours.
Nemo by Nightwish
Song of my life.
[by: Julie Martinez]
I still think about you
every time the moon is full.
I am no astronaut.
We are always loving things
only other people can reach.
Late nights that give birth to early mornings,
sitting on foreign couches,
roaming the realms of half dreams,
transcending to moments of happiness and peace,
from a body weighed down by a mind torn with depression.
It is in these moments that I think of you,
long for you.
Imagining a moment when we might cuddle together, when we might be together.
Clinging to my youthful optimism,
dreaming of perfection born out of imperfection,
dreaming of hope
dreaming of happiness.
I used to stand on toilets and stare at myself in my mother’s nightgowns, dreaming of the person I could be.
a family and a wife.
I used to call myself a hopeless romantic,
now some nights I simply feel hopeless,
never sure if I should give up on love or keep trying
never sure if I should give up on life or keep trying.
But when I think of all the reasons for giving it one more day, when I think of all the reasons to sleep on it.
I think of you.
Maybe that’s more creepy than it is romantic.
But I think of you,
and thinking of you gives me hope.
I would like the stars to align
And give us a place and time
To be us
I would like to say the words
That hide behind my tongue and burn
I would like to see that love is real
And know it’s something I can feel
And freely return
Staff note: Just once…