My fears and I
I’m afraid of what I fear
So much that I could have, would have and maybe never even should have
-Done
-Felt
-Said
I’m afraid of lies and heartfelt truths
I’m afraid of how I need you
I’m afraid of how you don’t need me
I’m afraid of disappointment
I’m afraid of the dark
I’m afraid of your eyes catching fire in the night, burning holes in your dreams, forgetting they were about me
I’m afraid of how, when you contemplate the could have, the would have and the maybe never even should have, you turn grey
I’m afraid of reminding myself of the things I should forget
I’m afraid of the things I never said and never felt and never made something of
I’m afraid of thinking more than feeling
I’m afraid of almosts cause they are close to maybes and it’s always making me think of the what ifs
I’m afraid that some day I’ll stop imagine
And just Maybe, fear is what’s keeping me alive. Maybe all my fears inside my head is beaming dots on a radar, searching for connection.
Like not just searching for anyone.
Like strangers.
Like strangers that look at you and know. Strangers that just know. Without the sound of any spoken word in any made-up language. Strangers that connects, for friendship or for love, for just a split second of a moment in time.
There is none the less pain in letting our fears hang out like guts, exposed for everyone to see. That is why we try to hide it, try our best to tuck it in under our thick leather jackets. Some become experts at hiding. Some fear strangers thinking they are not as strange as themselves. They let them pass, while hiding away. All the might be friends, the might be lovers and the might be in betweeners that could be so much more that just.. Strangers.
Today I’ve felt my heart burning like I’m about to rip it out in fear of it catching fire (fear no. 234.) But that’s how I know I’m ready. Even though it’s burning a hole in me, from deep inside, it’s that burning fear that screams the loudest. I can no longer keep it quiet. I can not express it in any other way. Its all the sleepless nights that is us becoming creatures of fear. Becoming human beings. Connected and disconnected. Strangers, hiding and beaming. And that is all I want you to see in me, even if I just happen to cross you on the street, even if I just happen to be your inbetweener.
Morning thoughts float across the kitchen table
I am a product of long corridors, empty sunlit rooms, upstairs indoor silences, attics explored in solitude, distant noises of gurgling cisterns and pipes, and the noise of wind under the tiles. Also, of endless books.
—C. S. Lewis (via thatkindofwoman)
(Source: amorette, via scripsimuro)
Badrumstårar
Det är någon annans badrumstårar, långt borta i en annan stad.
De kommer från en kvinna över åttio
hon sträcker sig, i tystnaden från en öde lägenhet, efter schampoflaskan
vattnet silar ned som stilla regn mot hennes krummade rygg
En gång var hon vacker.
Hon tänkter,
en gång var jag vacker.
Hon gråter för hon inte minns hur det kändes
hon söker genom minnet i dimman
efter handen som en gång knäppte upp knapparna på hennes blus.
Det rinner ned i kretsloppets smärtsamma kontinuitet.
En man under trettio drar handen genom sina blöta lockar
ryggen spänns
för hon som för första gången räknade hans fräknar.
Varje muskel pulserar i ångan
huvudet under vattenstrålen
händerna mot väggen
allt ljud försvinner
Hjärtat brinner för kärleken han inte kunde få.
För hon som lämnade honom med 1493 fräknar och badrumstårar.
(Source: aitnemed, via flyoverthecadaver)
(via evil-human)
On the drive to the Barnes Foundation, contemplating the colossal arrogance of Dr. Albert C. Barnes
(via la-beaute--de-pandore)
