Thought Catalog

I Could Get Lost In The Details Of You

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I want to drown in the details of you. But what if I get lost in them? You see, I am always afraid of losing myself. (That’s why I think I’ll never be anything great.) I always pause at the most exciting parts of books I read because I could feel myself disappearing in the landscapes of the two moons, or The Three Laws of Robotics, or the final battle on the slopes of Mount Doom. I’d snap myself out of the images in my mind and pause to look at the fake orchids on the clay pots near the windowsill, or the black screen of the television, or the vaguely Chinese design of the wall clock.
I’ve also observed this in the way I write. Sometimes my brain and my hands would enter into a mutual state of hysteria, sweeping me away on a bullet train of sentences and words and phrases that I’d put down on paper or laptop with frantic mania. In those moments, I’d have to force myself to step away from my desk and peruse something mundane. Maybe Buzzfeed. Facebook’s a staple, especially when a red notification pops up at the blue border at the top. I’d make myself coffee sometimes. Anything to stop the flash flood. Anything to remind myself of what I believe is real.
When you smile, your already thin lips almost disappear. When you’re especially amused, a dimple would appear at the corner of your mouth. Just a small depression on your smooth cheek, like a baby crater saying hello. I’d always point it out, an eager student answering questions on the first day of school.
The way you self-identify with the word “positive.” I hear it in your voice, though. The fear of wasted time. The question of significance. The worry of mediocrity and the stain of regret. I’m not sure if you know how to be sad yet. I don’t know if you’ve realized you don’t really have to hide it.
We would eat and you’d lambast the soft folds of your stomach, then proceed to eat three to four servings of whatever we’re having. I like that. I like that you put pleasure before image when it comes to something as visceral as food. It means you’re forgiving of flaws, beginning with your own.
Sometimes, you’re a 5-year old when it comes to your feelings. The very first time you told me you love me, you shouted it into my ear. Literally. At 7 in the morning, under the blankets. Like you’re paraphrasing “Fuck it, let me get this over with.” Then you hit me several times before rushing to the bathroom. It couldn’t be more perfect.
It’s safer on the edge, you know? When all you can see is the outline. When there’s not too much information, so I can still feign ignorance. Maybe I could love you just a little more than a lot. Maybe I could do that when I don’t know too much.
But we spent a weekend at my place, and you were lying on your stomach. Watching Friends on your laptop. I lay on top of you, just breathing with my ears pressed on your back. I could hear your heartbeats. Dub, dub, dub nonstop. I offered a thank you in my head because the nonstop dub dub dub was keeping you alive. Thank you, cells. Thank you organs. Thank you for doing your job well.
Maybe I could love you in a sensible way, with everything I’ve learned from my history. That relationships don’t last. That people always leave. That I don’t commit, nor stay with one person for a long time. These lessons I’ve compiled are necessary to avoid repeating the same mistakes. So I could have realistic expectations, so I could offer concrete ways in which my limitations are always factored into the equation. But if this were an exam, I’ll be failing already.
I could drown in the details of you, you know. I could breathe your smile into my lungs, replacing my oxygen with your molecules. The way you crave ice-cold Mountain Dew after waking up from a night of drinking. The way you’re still late to work even though you have more than two hours to prepare. The way you’d take a shower before bed no matter how tired you are. How your eyelashes are so long they frame your eyes like curtains. How you love the color green.
Maybe I could love just your vague outlines, because goodness, how I am drowning in all these details of you. TC mark

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Poetry that will change you

This is for the women who are first to get naked, howl at the moon and jump into the sea. This is for the women who seek relentless joy; the ones who know how to laugh with their whole souls. The women who speak to strangers because they have no fear in their hearts. This is for the women who drink coffee at midnight and wine in the morning, and dare you to question it. This is for the women who throw down what they love, and don’t waste time following society’s pressures to exist behind a white picket fence. The women who create wildly, unbalanced, ferociously and in a blur at times. This — is for you.

“When Janne has a new poem written, I shut my life down to do nothing but read it, and then when I turn my life back on, everything is better.” — James Altucher

You’ve never read poetry like this before

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  • marshmellowie

    Reblogged this on Euterpe.

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