i have a lot of dreams,
i’m just not entirely sure how i’m going to get there.

do moms still say trite things like “chin up”? did anyone else’s mom say that to them? my chin is pretty up about it all, it just seems like a very large, very complex, very real jumanji-esque puzzle that i can’t quite figure out.

i want so much for us, i hope that’s not wrong. i don’t think it’s wrong to want to build so much life with the person you love. to hold your hand and see the world. some of the things i want:

• seeing the pyramids of giza
• watch the sun set every day
• having a well-loved old wood dining table where we sit our whole family
• going on a million rollercoasters and screaming our lungs out
• reading each other’s favorite books, reading new books and trading so its like our worlds are one worlds and we see the same words
• dressing in crazy outfits and going on missions of banditry
• painting the side of our house
• riding horses, even if it turns out my memory is incorrect and i’m actually terrible at it
• having a kitchen the is like the heartbeat of our lives: big, full, the center of it all.

i also want to take you to pelourinho in salvador, to the oceans of bali, to see your hawaii, to wrap you in a big fluffy towel and kiss your cheek, to run with our dog along the beach, to make you a cup of better coffee every single morning, to just sit, watching you, marveling at this thing that is almost its own thing, almost out of our control, almost alive on its own.

i believe in these visions, as much as i believe in gravity, i just pray i’m on the right path to make them happen for us.

dear you,

if anyone knows how to walk in the world with this much love inside them, please give them my number.

no one could possibly love a person as much as i love you. i don’t know how they would live with it.

happiness.
and
you, you, you, you, you.

this morning lauren read me the poem i just posted. i was laying back in front of her, she lifted her hand to read the poem and i moved my head to the side so i could see her read.

i will always be able to picture one side of her face moving as she read it. her ivory peach skin, her flushed apple cheeks, one green eye looking down, the color of nothing i know of in the world, her lips mouthing the words. i will always remember this morning, the same as all other moving mornings, her clear voice reading it to me, the poem resonating like a bell, her clear, clear voice.

Sunset II, Margaret Atwood

kathleenjoy:

Sunset, now that we’re finally in it
is not what we thought.

Did you expect this violet black
soft edge to outer space, fragile as blown ash
and shuddering like oil, or the reddish
orange that flows into
your lungs and through your fingers?
The waves smooth mouthpink light
over your eyes, fold after fold.
This is the sun you breathe in,
pale blue. Did you
expect it to be this warm?

One more goodbye,
sentimental as they all are.
The far west recedes from us
like a mauve postcard of itself
and dissolves into the sea.

Now there’s a moon,
an irony. We walk
north towards no home,
joined at the hand.

I’ll love you forever,
I can’t stop time.

This is you on my skin somewhere
in the form of sand.

(via softcollapse)

(Source: hateshiploveship)

“I hope someday somebody wants to hold you for 20 minutes straight and that’s all they do. They don’t pull away. They don’t look at your face. They don’t try to kiss you. All they do is wrap you up in their arms and hold on tight, without an ounce of selfishness to it.”