Fade to dust.

I stayed up until the earliest morning's gold touched down and unfurled itself at the worlds edge. So sure, I had been, that I could stop tomorrow from coming if I could hold steady my grip on today. But it shifted in my grasp. I have only hours until the world wakes up around me and forces me to accept this movement I'm enclosed in.

You never told me why you didn't wait.

I've guessed that the moments I missed carried you away in the end. Often and again, I remind myself that that's okay - with words so simple to repeat and so impossible to feel. But I will try again this new day: it is good this way. 

S. 

{Photo: Alexander Duvall Flickr}

Damage.

If you're still breathing, you're the lucky ones/ Because most of us are heaving through corrupted lungs/ Setting fire to our insides for fun/ Collecting names of the lovers that went wrong. 

And if you're in love, then you are the lucky one/ Because most of us are bitter over someone/ Setting fire to our insides for fun/ To distract our hearts from ever missing them. 

But I'm forever missing him.

by Elena Tonra (Daughter)

{Photo via: We Heart It}

Daydrifter.

All people dream, but not equally.
Those who dream by night in the dusty recesses of their mind,
Wake in the morning to find that it was vanity.

But the dreamers of the day are dangerous people,
For they dream their dreams with open eyes,
And make them come true.

D.H. Lawrence

{Photo: Alexander Duvall Flickr}

"What If -"

I told myself I wouldn't write about that night. And even when my mind flits over it, taunting me gently with delusions of grandeur -- placing emphasis on insignificance -- I am quick to correct it. To strip away any romanticising of the evening, and force it to remain as it was: Calm, natural, and - for what counts - meaningless.

 That human part of me longs to pick it apart. To piece together something from nothing, as the saying goes.

But if I know me, I know that the story I'd like to create is a little too enchanting; a difficult one to put down. I know this because I've already had to. Many times over. I spin an small parting word into a soliloquy, a comment into a ballad. I forget that the pair of us are strangers, really. And not good ones at that: continually running from the others life. Or was that only me? (No).

When I look back on the past year, I see how our lives were so shaped by our movements. I - we - could never stand stoic long enough to see anything beyond the moment. There was never time to allow things to unfold. That was our mistake. That - and my insufferable need to bar myself from saying, out loud, what I assumed you already knew. 

You asked a question, before I disappeared again - off to bask myself in the forgiving sun of Italy, and give my heart to France's charm. Almost rhetorical. But I knew it wasn't that. 

I answered wrong. 

In part, because I didn't understand your meaning when the words first broke the silence. But, I think more than that, because it didn't matter. It shouldn't have, anyways. But as it consumes me softly, day by day, I see that it must matter more to me than anything I've known before.

I wish I had been brave enough to let you see then what was inside my heart - 

and what was not. 

S. 

{Photo via: We Heart It}