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I raise a heavy glass to you, our indestructible days. 

I have buried you in every place I’ve been. You keep ending up in my shaking hands.

— Bon Iver (via fawun)

(Source: starjuneje)

England is covered in snow entirely, exquisitely, magically. And with it so are we. But that’s a good thing, isn’t it? I’ve been looking forward to this for a year. And just for a split second, while we were lying breathless in the fresh snow, everything was complete and whole: a home so far away from home. 

But what happens when the snow stops falling? Does everything quietly turn to bitterness and resent? Or when the snow gets dirty? Do we also dirty ourselves with indifference and frustration?

Scientifically speaking, the world is 40% brighter in the winter. In the people around me, the change is too fleeting to matter, the snow on their souls already grey with vanity and envy. Within you, within me, it’s blindingly beautiful.

If I were to wildly choose something for myself from all the gifts of the world, I’d like you and me to live gloriously in a place where the snow is always fresh, always pure, always new. Where the people around us are always 40% brighter, regardless of who they really are or what their true nature is, and where I to you and you to me  shine with the power of every single unique snowflake. 

Because I celebrate the winter and I celebrate the snow and once upon a time I offered up my body as a canvas in a selfish act of extreme adoration.

I taste her and realize I have been starving.

— Anonymous 

(Source: whencasfell-inlove)

My insecurities,
My devious nature,

Make it go away. 

My dearest You, 

If we’ve ever crossed paths in our twisted lives.

If we’ve ever shared a meal or a drink or a bed.

If I’ve ever cooked for you or if you’ve ever cooked for me.

If I’ve ever stalked you but never had the courage to talk to you.

If you’ve ever stalked me, for whatever odd reason. 

If I’ve ever had a secret crush on you. 

If you’re my friend.

If I’ve ever offended you.

If one of us ever wanted to be friends with each other but it just didn’t work out.

If we used to be friends and then somehow we grew distant or fell apart.

If I’ve ever loved you.

If you’ve ever loved me or thought that you did.

If I’ve forgiven you for this or that or whatnot. 

If we’ve ever danced together.

If we’ve ever laughed at each other or just simply with each other. 

If you’ve never heard of me. 

If you’ve ever left me for someone else or maybe I’ve left you. 

If I’ve ever written you a letter or a note or drawn on your body.

If I’ve hugged you. 

If we’ve ever seen the snow together or looked up at the same night sky.

If I’ve ever sung for you or with you or listened to you sing to me.

If we’ve ever ridden a car together for 6 hours or more. 

If I’ve shared with you my deepest, darkest secrets or heard yours.

If I’ve held your hand. 

If you’ve ever met my cats.

If you’ve made an effort to raise me and teach me about the world, about the difference between right and wrong, about how to treat people.

If I miss you or if you somehow miss me. 

If you’ve ever felt threatened by me or the other way around. 

If we’ve ever played together like the children that we once used to be.

If I’ve ever found you pretty.

If I’ve kissed you. 

If we grew up together. 

If we’re never going to see each other again.


I hope the New Year finds you well. I hope the New Year finds you loved.

And may it bring you peace, may it bring you clarity. 

Truth is, I’m such a heavy heart to carry sometimes.

Forgive me for that.

There’s still so many things I cannot do, things that I’m supposed to know but I just don’t, things people expect me to be able to do and yet I can’t. I’m lazy and I don’t care. But mostly I just avoid responsibilities, I’m actually really good at that. I’m also a supporter of “second chances”, which will one day bite me in the ass, but I’m a masochist, so it’s okay. 

There were times when I didn’t know how to piece myself together, because I was the one that took myself apart in the first place. I couldn’t fix what I’d broken, so how could other people do it? It was my responsibility and yet again, I avoided it until it became impossible to avoid. That’s probably the only thing that ever gets me going, a time crisis. And so I did what I had to do, how I knew best, to stitch up the pieces of me, without any real understanding of why I was doing it. 

But now all of it just makes complete sense. It wasn’t for me, it wasn’t just for my well-being. It was because somewhere deep inside I’ve always know that the best gift I could ever give someone, you, was me, whole and healed and ready, in pristine condition and perfect working state. It was never your job to repair the mechanisms of my heart, you deserved nothing less than the best I had to offer, the best anyone had to offer. 

If I’d waited and hoped that one day someone would come and they’d care enough to try and save me, right now you’d probably still be searching for the pieces and wondering where everything fits because you don’t have the instructions and you’d always be angry because nothing would ever work even though it looked fine. You’d grow tired and the magic would just die and we’d wither away just like countless other stories.

Sure, I’m flawed, crazy, impatient and I have a bad temper sometimes. But that doesn’t mean I’m still broken, that makes me human. And that is the biggest personal achievement that I could ever have hoped for. 

And that’s my gift to you. 

What could you do with your beautiful hands, my love? 
What could you do with those lips?

Breathe me in.