Salinyay-blog - Bananafish

Sober like a face slap, obvious as the morning after, I saw you for what you are: a woman, cruel and imperfect, a fighter who tried everything to protect her one and only heart, how it didn’t matter, it was torn fresh from its root anyway

Cristin O'Keefe Aptowicz, excerpt from Lilith (via theoryoflostthings)

We've been having so much fun in Italy; a lot of strolling, talking, swimming and diving into the Mediterranean. I've been writing a lot too; this country, a fistful of love.

You are as innocent as a bathtub / full of bullets.

Margaret Atwood, “Backdrop Addresses Cowboy” (via mythaelogy)

note to self: don’t stop fighting

our love burned hot and bright, but baby, not even forest fires can burn forever

burningbridgets (via wnq-writers)

thoughts on youth & this dusty skin. fear of years. a mirror maze. how great to drift in a city with no name. alone. 

the things we learn on our mothers’ laps

see that lady standing there between the window & the fire extinguisher? she’s just lost her father & i think her boyfriend just left her.

why the fuck would you say that?

i’m telling you, i’ve got this superpower. i just know.

how’s that? a superpower?

not a marvel studios superpower, u silly. more like this supreme capacity. i’ve always had it.

when my dad abandoned my mom, she lost herself in the world’s most dangerous drug: poetry.

she used to hold me on her lap while reciting emily brunte & sylvia plath.

i think that’s why i can read into people’s sadness.

when i come across sadness on the street, authentic sadness, the blues crawl out their host & come talk to me. i’m thinking of starting a mémoire or a blog on it. like that humans of new york, u know?

talk about those things we learn on our mothers’ laps…

i reckon everyone who’s lucky enough to have a mum will undoubtedly learn something whilst resting on her lap. my mom used to sit me on her lap while she revised old latin scriptures & tried herself at egyptian hieroglyphics.

that’s why sometimes tombs & churches murmur their secrets to me. they tell me stories about the afterlife & how, if demanded gently, fire can caress the soul the way water strokes the curves of an overflowing vase.

they find it hilarious that we make a big deal out of our own end.

when all there really is, is an everlasting void.

- @skinthepoet

Her fingers moving fast & brutal as if mapping blue edges of the unseen sky.

This is what it means to really want something. Her open mouth an iris ringed

with desperation deeper than shame. You’ll forsake everything if only to be real—

— Natalie Wee, from “Mirror,” Our Bodies & Other Fine Machines