You wore a grey suit and a smile
to match my worn down cardigan. I couldn’t find my key.
I thought about your old flannel and how it hung from your thin frame when I asked how you were doing.
“My grandfather just died,” what a strange way to answer.
What an unforgiveable sigh that passed through my lips.
Silas House, This is My Heart for You (via larmoyante)s-alamandrine)
She was burned by the Prodigal Sun before I met her before last September, and I learned this is why her hair is red.
Fire down her throat, whispers in her ear, a sunflower uprooted and her petals self righteously plucked, Love me; no, love me; but love me she loves them not.
Wolves can’t have the young, wroughten heart.
Dare: re-start your sentences until they sound right
Dare: re-start yourself until you no longer have to
Dare: make wine out of expired thoughts and worn down words, and don’t get drunk off of it
Dare: don’t settle, don’t be settled, don’t settle for home
Dare: don’t humor the shadows
Dare: find warmth in the comfort(ers) of friends and not “not” friends
Truth: What’re you going to do?