I Parade Myself

I’ve lost so many battles lately. In some cases I surrendered because it was the right thing to do, because it was time and I needed it, in other cases I surrendered because anything else would have meant death. And then there’s the battles I’ve simply lost, perhaps because I was not prepared. However bad or good the outcome may have been, though, defeat is still defeat. It takes a toll on us, it wears us down and tires us. It makes it hard for me to speak so many times a day.

I still expect too much, despite that being very little in the first place. Too much kindness, too much understanding, too much acceptance. I expect that people will at least appreciate my small efforts, if they have nothing suitable to offer in return. Somehow, that is never the case.

In all honesty, though, we expect too much of each other, I find. We yearn for too much and pin on each other too many hopes and dreams and wishes and desires. We promise too many things and fulfil so little. We blame each other too much and often forget about forgiveness. And I wish I knew the cure for all of that.

I’ve been so weak lately.

Despite what people think of me, I am fiercely loyal and have a strong desire to do good, to help, to see that those around me whom I cherish and love are okay and doing well and happy, if possible. And even though I have the best intentions, it all backfires on me every single time. It’s made me weak, so weak that I now surrender no matter what my chances of victory might be.

So why do I still offer myself up entirely in a fruitless attempt to comfort and soothe and be of use? Why am I still there regardless of my own needs? It’s quite possible that my long lost humanity is responsible, but I’m sure love is involved too somehow. 

I’ve no hidden agenda, or hidden thoughts any more. I say what I mean and I mean what I say because anything else would require energy I do not own. Every day has become this insane roller coaster and there’s no ground to rest my feet on and all the happy thoughts in the world can’t seem to save me.

I liked to think that I lived freely because you love me. You love me, despite my flaws, despite what I may think of myself. You love me, and it enabled me to wake up every morning and not be drowned in the grief that I have awoken to see yet another day.

But somehow that’s backfired on me as well.

And all that’s left for me to do is witness helplessly how this white confusion leaks into everything, and I genuinely wonder if we’re ever going to spend more night together than the one’s we’ve spent apart or if you’re ever going to feel that I and what I have to offer are worth the painfully long wait. But the one thing that hurts the most every time I think of you as of late is that I wonder if I’m ever going to see you again. And that just makes me choke on all the things I wish I’d had the chance to do and all the tears that spill uncontrollably before I even manage to catch my breath again.

And it feels like we’re already flying,
But the air is too thin and we’re dying.

I hold out my hand just to touch you
And all that I know is I love you.

When I touch her, my fingers don’t question what she is. My body knows who she is. The strange thing about strangers is that they are unknown and known. There is a pattern to her, a shape I understand, a private geometry that numbers mine. She is a maze where I got lost years ago, and now find the way out. She is the missing map. She is the place that I am. She is a stranger. She is the strange that I am beginning to love.

— The Stone Gods, Jeanette Winterson (via helplesslyamazed)

(Source: quote-book)

tylerknott:

Typewriter Series #30 by Tyler Knott Gregson

Sometimes
I think I can
measure the space
between us
with the
time it takes
your breath
to
reach
my
cheek;
right now,
my love,
I know you
are not nearly
close enough.

-Tyler Knott Gregson-

I live in many worlds. Those of countless books and movies and those of a more realistic nature, that threaten to rip me apart in neat, equal pieces.

I am torn between the life I’m supposed to be living, namely the life my parents expect me to have, the life I want to live and a sort of perverse compromise in between the two, that acts as a stop on my journey to and back from these two conflicting worlds.

I used to think that I was journeying to and back from nowhere, and for a while it was true, because I was lost and there was nothing on the other side. But then you found me. And I’ve been travelling to you ever since. The only problem is that there is always a moment when I have to go back. Always the need to say goodbye. And that always leaves me in pieces afterwards.

Sometimes I wish my worlds would just mix and merge, but I have seen that they are unbearably incompatible. Where once there was a ledge in between, now lies a bottomless pit and I’m there, on the edge, wondering if jumping would kill me or if I must go back.

I live in fear. That I might disappoint so many other people before I even get a chance to feel disappointed in myself. It’s gotten to the point where I’m okay with everything as long as it upsets or bothers or disappoints the least amount of people. Damage control. I’ve been doing that ever since my world split right down the middle and I found myself running around a battlefield in the midst of a war. I still haven’t figured out who’s fighting, though. It’s either me against the world, or me against myself.

I have no options. Partly because I never asked for any and partly because no one ever thought that I might require them. And the worst part is that you don’t realize how much you need the comfort of having these options until the lack of them becomes too painfully obvious.

I never do the right things at the right time, I never choose what’s best for me or make the right decisions. I’m always in the wrong place at the wrong time and I always only get half of what I want and need.
“I’m coming home, but it’s only for a month.”
“I’ll stay the night, but I don’t have time for coffee in the morning.”
“I desperately need us to be together, but you’ll have to wait for me for a very long time. “
And the hits just keep on coming.

I keep running back and forth and make the worst judgement calls. And sometimes, like now, I find myself stuck in No Man’s Land again, forced to deal with the sad consequences of my actions and my plans, that never really seem to work out the way I wanted them to. 

(Source: otakulei)

I wanted to tell her that she was the first beautiful thing I had seen in three years. That the sight of her yawning to the back of her hand was enough to drive the breath from me. How I sometimes lost the sense of her words in the sweet fluting of her voice. I wanted to say that if she were with me then somehow nothing could ever be wrong for me again.

— Patrick Rothfuss, The Name of the Wind (via larmoyante)

I can’t possibly go back. I can’t possibly stay here.

I can’t be away from you. I can’t be near my parents.

How sweet are the contradictions of life. There’s no common ground between the two paths, so what am I supposed to choose, what am I supposed to do?

I can’t live with this frame of mind. I can’t even think of dying.

My skin, wrapped in you, off of which your scent rolls down slowly, my skin whispers your name. It pulsates with rhythm like a steady, heavy breath, as recollections of you fill its every pore. Gentle touches of your hands linger on it still, marked and yours forever, while it shivers infinitely sweet in the aftermath of our encounter. My own hands tremble with the need to hold and caress you, while my neck still quivers from your warm breath, your soft lips that pressed themselves roughly onto every inch. Your hands on my back, your fingers on my lips, the powerful, chaotic pounding of your heartbeat in my ear, heat and desire radiating from you constantly. Your soothing voice, your enticing words. Only flashes of moments I will treasure and relive for the rest of my existence.

I saw it then, the edge of the world. It was there between us, at the tip of your tongue and the tips of your fingers, at the rim of my lip as it traced the outline of your jaw then rested upon your own lips, yearning to be kissed, at the end of our bodies tightly pressed together.

You can’t think on the edge of the world, you can only feel, and you feel everything, for your every nerve is raw and exposed and overwhelmed by a hundred thousand sensations at once. You feel everything with an intensity almost unbearable to withstand - no rationality, no anesthesia.

Your love fills me up like nothing ever did. I am bound in the way you held me close, I am lost in the way I held on to you for dear life.

On the edge of the world you begin to question your sanity, your past, you wonder whether there was ever a moment before you got there, or an entire lifetime. And in the tiniest moment before you realise that your journey can only continue forward, you understand that you have lived your life to ultimately reach that point and there’s no other meaning to it. A lifetime that vanishes as you find yourself utterly bewildered.

A rush, a thrill, a high, a violent kick in the stomach. That’s what I get every single time my mind wraps itself around your memory. I burn. Every inch of me, inside and out, screams for you and misses you. But all they do is echo within me, screams and moans and heavy breathing, as I cover myself with reminders of you, words and scent and kisses and skin.