We have 877
memories together,
and they all stack up like bricks
which I stand upon.

I can’t just up and forget. 

benedick-anders:

Tattooed Tears - The Front Bottoms

I’m gonna have to learn that this love will never be convenient
It’s not like a movie when we kiss; there will never be no music when we kiss
And I’m gonna have to learn that this love will never be convenient

June is present and kicking;
he wakes up with vigor and 
bursts into sun beams and 
hot, sticky asphalt.

I like May, though.

May is sweet and full of promise.
When she wraps her thinning arms around you,
you feel no warmth or comfort;
you feel a restlessness and a 
delicious foreboding. 

May teases and tugs,
May pulls you along and 
puts blinders on your sides
so that you can only look forward.

May pushes you onward,
she has no patience for people that want to stay.
She is a covenant and she is comforting,
but there is unsatisfaction
in her sleepy warm air. 

If you ever need
to eat words pertaining to me,
I hope that they are 
sweet
and filled to the brim
with soft words you 
wish you would had said.

Has taught me that I am too strong to settle.
Has taught me to look around when I hit rock bottom, because there is always beauty in sadness.
Has taught me that you find the most wonderful people in the most unexpected places.
Has taught me to be alone.
Has taught me to value the people closest to me.
Has taught me that everyone has a place, but being in the wrong place makes you re-find yourself.

This year has been terrible, but there have been brightly burning points of beauty that I would not trade for the world. 

I fooled everyone,
including myself.
I believed that your eyes were like
picture frames that
held me close in rounded corners,
that you put me on your
wooden desk, next to your
dusty copy of Transatlanticism.

Walking home on dusty
Saturday mornings,
I skipped sidewalk cracks
and made myself wait
for something to go wrong
before I believed your future-tense
stories involving the word “us”.

There was relief when you
fled the scene:
the director had not yet started filming,
and you still didn’t know
my middle name.

hey finals week

I only have fun
at other people’s homes.
I steal their friends, I steal their memories,
and I steal their shampoo and 
use their showers at five in the
still drunken morning.

There are dirt clods on the 
tiled floors,
archives of another eventful night
I only pretended to be a part of.

The water runs over me until I’m chapped;
I don’t think about water or heating
bills because they are not my burden tonight,
and I cry like a frustrated child
because I wish feverishly not to be a guest,
to be a resident.

To be a nomad
is to only observe the silver lining,
but I want the cumulus in-between.