MAN i love anything and everything gothic americana like think about southwestern gothic with flickering motel lights and thieves and snakes hiding in sunset deserts, but also new england gothic with deep dark woods and bodies sunk into the bottom of freezing lakes, and a…
My mother tells me
that when I meet someone I like,
I have to ask them three questions:
1. what are you afraid of?
2. do you like dogs?
3. what do you do when it rains?
of those three, she says the first one is the most important.
“They gotta be scared of something, baby. Everybody is. If they aren’t afraid of anything, then they don’t believe in anything, either.”
I met you on a Sunday, right
one look and my heart fell into
my stomach like a trap door.
on our second date,
I asked you what you were afraid of.
“spiders, mostly. being alone. little children, like, the ones who just learned how to push a kid over on the playground. oh and space. holy shit, space.”
I asked you if you liked dogs.
“I have three.”
I asked you what you do when it rains.
“sleep, mostly. sometimes I sit at the window and watch the rain droplets race. I make a shelter out of plastic in my backyard for all the stray animals; leave them food and a place to sleep.”
he smiled like he knew.
like his mom told him the same
“how about you?”
I’m scared of everything.
of the hole in the o-zone layer,
of the lady next door who never
smiles at her dog,
and especially of all the secrets
the government must be breaking
it’s back trying to keep from us.
I love dogs so much, you have no idea.
I sleep when it rains.
I want to tell everyone I love them.
I want to find every stray animal and bring them home.
I want to wake up in your hair
and make you shitty coffee
and kiss your neck
and draw silly stick figures of us.
I never want to ask anyone else
I will never cease to be amazed by books. Seriously. Just think about it: thousands of people read the same book but in each one’s mind the characters look different and the setting changes and we’re all reading the same thing but it’s so unique to each of us. That is insanely cool.
“I already said too much. I already shared too much, and I want all my secrets back. I hate getting close to people these days, I always regret sharing too much, caring too much, doing too much, feeling too much.”—Unknown (via felicefawn)
i used to braid flowers into your hair.
the petals would tumble
littering the constellations between your shoulder blades
and you would laugh.
“i am not a garden.”
and yet you would flow with the seasons.
in spring you wore roses in your iris,
whorling whites and pinks and reds
between every fluttering blink
of your eyelashes.
buds of may,
you scaled the walls outside
to catch the morning sun.
you burst open
like a field of poplar trees ribboning the wind.
your winsome fingers danced
grasping for where ever the
golden breeze would take you.
and in autumn
the trees were drenched in red.
and so were your hands.
the leaves whispered
collapsing into heaps on brown grass.
so you fell.
i do not like talking about
the biting cold.
i found the last of the petals inside the piano
between c sharp and d natural
suspended over the metal strings and
i can still smell the roses.
”— [here we go a-picking, buds of may] a.g. (via eurvdice)