“Scientists have recently stated that every second,
the human brain takes in eleven million bits
of information, but it is only aware of forty bits.
I wish I could have told my senses to focus
all their energy on taking every bit of information
from the way you breathe.
You’re gone now and instead of remembering
the way you spoke to me
or how you smelled the day you told me you loved me -
I remember that the grass was two inches taller than it should be
and there was a light mist making my hair stick out in three different directions.
Even my memory was against keeping you.
Even my brain knew it was better that I not remember.”—Amanda Helm, Remembering (via amandaspoetry)
“A writer—and, I believe, generally all persons—must think that whatever happens to him or her is a resource. All things have been given to us for a purpose, and an artist must feel this more intensely. All that happens to us, including our humiliations, our misfortunes, our embarrassments, all is given to us as raw material, as clay, so that we may shape our art.”—Jorge Luis Borges (via decrepito)
how long have we known each other now? how long have we known the other’s name and not breathed it into the night hoping to be closer? i feel as if the universe has used my life to draw me to you, to create in me a shadow, that only you could see. you see, i see things differently with you - as if you’ve given me this new vision, this new pair of eyes and everything is brighter, everything is more connected. you’ve shown me God as the artist, as the small person trying to hold the world together with such small hands, and weeping when we all fall apart. I cannot thank you enough for painting in my dark lines, for giving me yellow when all I wanted was to hole myself away in a pit of blackness and never be seen again.
to you, whose hands have brushed my heart when you are hundreds of miles away. to you, who has seen me and shown me the art and beauty within myself. If I lived one thousand more lifetimes, I would pick you every time.
I promise you that I meant it all. I know we agreed a long time ago that promises meant nothing and only just hurt us in the end, and this one is no different. It means nothing, it changes nothing, and it hurts knowing this. I imagine it always will.
Had our circumstances been different,
had we loved each other in the right time zones,
I would have loved you in every lifetime after this one. I think I still might. I think maybe this one just wasn’t it.
I had hoped, though, God, had I hoped it was this one.
Every time I have faced heartbreak, they have always told me that I will find better.
I will not find better. I will only find closer. I will only find different. Even if I find myself, I will still be lacking you.
You are God. Remember this.
Remember this when it aches. You are God and
I’ve never loved another more than I have loved your lack of divinity and your presence of vulnerability.
I am frightened I made a mistake, but more so frightened that I will never be able to hold your hand. I love you and I am looking back. This is important. I have never looked back before. I love you and I am looking back. Please know that I was just not able to be brave. Please know that if you were standing right here, in front of me, I would want to discover infinity all over again.
Please know it is selfish of me to miss you this way, when I am the one who sent you away.
I think love still needs some repairs and you and I just got lost in the cracks. I would not have chosen anyone else but you. I miss you and that is such a heavy phrase to say into a place that you cannot respond.
“One day you’re going to see her holding hands with someone who took your chance. She won’t even notice you because she’s too busy laughing with the stupid jokes he makes. And it will burn your heart seeing that beautiful smile on her face and realizing that you’re not the reason anymore. And then it will finally hit you: it was her, it was always her.”—(via ac-ru)
Sometimes you’re 23 and standing in the kitchen of your house making breakfast and brewing coffee and listening to music that for some reason is really getting to your heart.
You’re just standing there thinking about going to work and picking up your dry cleaning. And also more exciting things like books you’re reading and trips you plan on taking and relationships that are springing into existence. Or fading from your memory, which is far less exciting.
And suddenly you just don’t feel at home in your skin or in your house and you just want home but “Mom’s” probably wouldn’t feel like home anymore either.
There used to be the comfort of a number in your phone and ears that listened everyday and arms that were never for anyone else. But just to calm you down when you started feeling trapped in a five-minute period where nostalgia is too much and thoughts of this person you are feel foreign.
When you realize that you’ll never be this young again but this is the first time you’ve ever been this old. When you can’t remember how you got from sixteen to here and all the same feel like sixteen is just as much of a stranger to you now.
The song is over. The coffee’s done. You’re going to breathe in and out. You’re going to be fine in about five minutes.