TDO
With you,
I don’t feel butterflies in my stomach,
no,
I feel a thousand stars
exploding in my chest
at the same time.
- m.v., We are supernova  (via cosmicspread)


thelovewhisperer:

Your Daily Relatable Love Quotes and Love Images
Wake Up, Arise

I wake up in the morning And I tiredly look up at the stale white texture Of these shared walls. I walk, talk, hear, and Run in my days.

I have forgotten… Something

I wake up in the morning And I tiredly smell the bland, aroma Of sultry dry walled room air. I walk, talk, hear, and Run in my nights.

I have forgotten… Something

I wake up in the morning And I wearily hear the monotonous sounds Of my five alarms. I walk, talk, hear, and Run in my days.

I have forgotten… Something

I arise in the morning And I excitedly experience –for the first in a longtime— all senses Of you my dear. I meander, yell, heed, and Sprint in my days and nights.

I have forgotten, but I finally remember… Everything.

TD


You’re the unanswered “Y” in my alphabet recitation, the déjà vu in my french counting, and the hindrance on every other of my counted footsteps

When I’m roaming around campus like a lone bad-ass ranger, I’ll recite the alphabet, count in french, or sometimes, I’ll carefully assign a certain amount of foot steps to each sidewalk segment. Depending on the day, certain habits accompany me on my lone walk to and fro. These habits keep me at ease and at bay so I don’t feel crazy all the time. OH but baby, Ever since I met you, thoughts of you hover over these habits. In my recitation of the letters from A to Z, you are the shocking, sudden, yet calming “Y” in between my “M’s” and “N’s”. I’ll never be able to answer “Y” I can’t and won’t quit you. Ever since I decided to keep you close, déjà vu  is a reoccurring experience in which I almost believe you and I were lovers in a past life. This crazy déjà vu has me thinking that I counted up to dix when I’ve been stuck on deux for me and you. Ever since you held me in your arms and I comfortably decided you were the most scary human to make me feel safe and secure, I find myself losing track of foot steps on each sidewalk segment.


I Recite my Alphabet, and Stop At You.

As a way to calm my nerves on bad days, I sometimes recite the alphabet. I will recite quickly, and sometimes slowly. I would never recite the alphabet backwards, because that’s just not fucking possible…And god that would make me even more fucking anxious. However, I would always recite the alphabet completely in its entirety, because god-forbid I leave this one controllable part of me incomplete and unfinished. But Baby… nowadays, I’ll stop before the end, because “Y” stops my train of thought. “Y” is for you. “Y” is for I don’t know “Y” I haven’t thought I need to run away from you. And once “Y” comes up, I think of all the reasons “Y” I want to get closer, close enough that I would forget your breath ever differed from mine. But none are good enough. And so “Y” hovers above all the lovely letters, and I just accept that I can’t quit thinking of YOU. I no longer stop at “x”,”y”, and “Z.” The finality of Z has become unnecessary. The recitation itself is sometimes unnecessary, because all I want to do is zoom past “m”,”n”,”l”,”o”,”p”, and surpass the slow progression of “q”,”r”,”s”,”t”,”u”,”v” in order to get past “w” and “x” to just finally arrive at “y”, that is you.


Broken Lovers

At the beginning

She warned me about the dangers of staying…

She warned me about herself and her broken pieces. 

In her many ways, she turned on 

the yellow warning lights, urging me to slow down and perhaps 

STOP …turn and run away. 

I saw the lights, and I felt the urgency.

But I am not afraid of her broken pieces…

I am afraid that our pieces won’t fit together. 

-TD
WHERE DA HELL IS MY SENSE AND SENSIBILILTY

I want to act accordingly to Elinor’s principles, but also allow myself to behave like Marianne and indulge in the romance-induced craze of this relationship. Like Elinor, I need to restrain myself, yet be like Marianne in order to loosen my defenses to connect with this other beautiful human being. I need to behave with propriety, yet breech the boundaries of polite society in order to feel right in place—the place in between her arms and the place where I can only arrive via her soft kisses—of a high nirvana. I need to stop “being selfish” and take care of family matters before attending to my needs and wants, yet I need to drop all in hands and arms to necessitate the need to be in her presence, so close to her that I would forget my breath ever differed from hers.

The truth in sensibility has overlapped with the questionable sense of 20th century delusional love. I know that the words “I”, “Love”, and “You” are as inevitable as our kisses. I know I can love her. Maybe this is the only sensible thing I can know for now.