December 2011
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His Hand
punched the fridge, an old 1950s model, avocado green and stocky—hadn’t worked for days—the freezer dribbling its melted frost onto the floor, the chicken breasts he’d pounded into cutlets rotting under two inches of water. He’d broken the first two fingers, jammed his thumb, cracked the knuckle above his wedding band, and with no ice around he ran the tender mess under the sink’s cool tap and...
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“I supposed this was one reason why people got married, to make a fiction that...”
– Miranda July, It Chooses You (via chewyourlipstick)
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New Year's Eve
I’m looking for an inexpensive and stylish New Year’s dress. Any suggestions?
I wanted this one: http://www.modcloth.com/shop/dresses/go-for-brocade-dress
but it’s out of stock.
Also, it’s $185.00.
WHO CARES. I’M OVER IT.
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Goodbye, Muncie!
Leaving you is like leaving home; there is so much to miss.
Chicago in the morning.
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“I tell my piano the things I used to tell you.”
– Frédéric Chopin (via theohpioneer)
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Aftermath
Okay, Tumblr. Here’s a poem I’ve been working on that I want to share with you for critiques!
You’re the tan line on a finger from a wedding band that’s no longer there. Something I once held close but lost; you’re beautiful but temporary because I don’t know how to let you stay. Last year, I lost my slow dance, my family dinner. They walked out the door, leaving behind...
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Piano
Touched by your goodness, I am like that grand piano we found one night on Willoughby that someone had smashed and somehow heaved through an open window. And you might think by this I mean I’m broken or abandoned, or unloved. Truth is, I don’t know exactly what I am, any more than the wreckage in the alley knows it’s a piano, filling with trash and yellow leaves. Maybe I’m...
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When You Are Old
When you are old and grey and full of sleep, And nodding by the fire, take down this book, And slowly read, and dream of the soft look Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep; How many loved your moments of glad grace, And loved your beauty with love false or true, But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you, And loved the sorrows of your changing face; And bending down beside the glowing...
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Lilac Sunday
Let us agree to meet here some winter when the park gates are locked, and the arches thinned of their vaulting green to climb the wall, thaw the icicles and watch the rain like flowering cherry and lilacs that kissed your hair; some winter when the fog is heavy,— to return to this light.
— Diana Der-Hovanessian
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“Your numbness…is something perhaps you cannot help. It is what the world has done to you. But your coldness. That is what you do to the world.”
—Lorrie Moore “Self Help - What Is Seized”
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“We dated and she’s an incredibly important person that I lived with for a long...”
– Justin Vernon on the meaning behind Skinny Love (via saddest-summer)
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Coping
It has rained for five days running the world is a round puddle of sunless water where small islands are only beginning to cope a young boy in my garden is bailing out water from his flower patch when I ask him why he tells me young seeds that have not seen sun forget and drown easily.
—Audre Lorde