benjaminbentley - Tumblr blog

benjaminbentley · 1 year

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for it was when falling stars turned from i wish to i beg i came to realize my childhood had come and gone.

b.b

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benjaminbentley · 1 year

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It goes without saying that I’m a little broken.

Tip-toeing, early mornings. Careful, always on the lookout.

It goes without saying that I’m a little broken, but held together by the gold spewed by those who take the time needed.

Heartfelt, gentle words. Patient, long silences.

It goes without saying that I’m a little broken, yet on the pathway of recovery in the caring grasp of someone who knows.

b.b

#rb

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benjaminbentley · 1 year

Text

"You seem to do so much better

with me"

but who is negligent enough

to leave knives,

broken glass,

shattered bottles

on the floor for concerned steps to meet

in dim evening rooms

and street lit corners?

"You seem happier"

because my recovery has sped up

after leaving additional luggage

behind

at borders of apathy

and hurt.

b.b

#rb

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benjaminbentley · 2 years

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you look at him and suddenly every breath of morning makes sense; every star is an undying wish every golden ray of sun a blessing all similar to the things he does to you your heart your soul your being.

you look at him and suddenly you remember what it feels like to be alive.

he , the morning / b.b

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benjaminbentley · 2 years

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These walls are painted in the hues of a life where an “us” has taken form through Polaroids and way too long curtains; (scattered clothes, messy sheets, sweaty palms you on me) reaching to the floor where our souls embark on journeys found among star-crossed lovers in between cracks of a wooden floor.

on star-crossed lovers formed in an old living room / b.b

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benjaminbentley · 3 years

Text

"You seem to do so much better

with me"

but who is negligent enough

to leave knives,

broken glass,

shattered bottles

on the floor for concerned steps to meet

in dim evening rooms

and street lit corners?

"You seem happier"

because my recovery has sped up

after leaving additional luggage

behind

at borders of apathy

and hurt.

b.b

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benjaminbentley · 3 years

Text

It goes without saying that I’m a little broken.

Tip-toeing, early mornings. Careful, always on the lookout.

It goes without saying that I’m a little broken, but held together by the gold spewed by those who take the time needed.

Heartfelt, gentle words. Patient, long silences.

It goes without saying that I’m a little broken, yet on the pathway of recovery in the caring grasp of someone who knows.

b.b

44 notes · View notes

benjaminbentley · 4 years

Text

you look at him and suddenly every breath of morning makes sense; every star is an undying wish every golden ray of sun a blessing all similar to the things he does to you your heart your soul your being.

you look at him and suddenly you remember what it feels like to be alive.

he , the morning / b.b

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benjaminbentley · 4 years

Text

Suffocating, I find myself reaching for stars that flicker at the sight of my outstretched fingers desperately looking for signs as to whether there will ever be a rising sun.

b.b

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benjaminbentley · 4 years

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The day you dare to hold me be gentle, for my edges are broken glass ready to jab at every approaching caress, at every gentle touch, at every sweet gesture that mean so well.

The day you are to kiss me hold your breath, for within there is a void so deep and so cold that my heart will collapse on itself at the faintest chance of air of love of you.

The day you dare to love me, remind me to apologize for all the damage I will do.

b.b

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benjaminbentley · 4 years

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On loving a soul whose luggage has turned to restless nights, shaky hands and mismatched laughter.

You are going to regret it. You are going to love it. You are going to love regretting it. You are going to regret loving it.

Most of all love it, for the regrets that were there before you have left deep tracks that outdo your own feet, allowing themselves to collapse around you if you dare to step too close; love it, love it all, every dreadful minute and every passing hour where you question your belief, for it is the only way through.

Love it.

Never regret it.

Count the days where your hours cross one another, rain on grass, no longer moon and sun. Write them inside your palm, kiss it close and love those scribbled lines, cradle them against your heart and count, keep counting; it is the only way you’re gonna get through.

And when those days pass, count again. Wave hello as you pass one another into the night which breaks into morning, greet one another with quick kisses and clumsy touches, allow hellos to be good-nights and good-nights to become hellos. This is reality and it has you by the back the neck, face up to the fact that you are human, you are no cure, you are only a lover whose heart willingly sets itself on fire to keep somebody else warm. You are a totem, ready to guide those who are lost, all despite never having returned home yourself; leave a candle out in the open, make sure to bring yourself back, too, for what is a guide without a home on their own but someone whose luggage has fallen open, too?

Carry that luggage.

Sweep the remains into your hands, pick it up, carry it along as you chase your moon across the endless globe. Count the days, hold on tight, for this is how you love a soul whose luggage has turned to restless nights, shaky hands and mismatched laughter.

You are going to regret it. You are going to love it. You are going to love regretting it. You are going to regret loving it; but it’s all worth a try.

A memoir, b.b

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benjaminbentley · 4 years

Text

On loving a soul whose luggage has turned to restless nights, shaky hands and mismatched laughter.

You are going to regret it. You are going to love it. You are going to love regretting it. You are going to regret loving it.

Most of all love it, for the regrets that were there before you have left deep tracks that outdo your own feet, allowing themselves to collapse around you if you dare to step too close; love it, love it all, every dreadful minute and every passing hour where you question your belief, for it is the only way through.

Love it.

Never regret it.

Count the days where your hours cross one another, rain on grass, no longer moon and sun. Write them inside your palm, kiss it close and love those scribbled lines, cradle them against your heart and count, keep counting; it is the only way you’re gonna get through.

And when those days pass, count again. Wave hello as you pass one another into the night which breaks into morning, greet one another with quick kisses and clumsy touches, allow hellos to be good-nights and good-nights to become hellos. This is reality and it has you by the back the neck, face up to the fact that you are human, you are no cure, you are only a lover whose heart willingly sets itself on fire to keep somebody else warm. You are a totem, ready to guide those who are lost, all despite never having returned home yourself; leave a candle out in the open, make sure to bring yourself back, too, for what is a guide without a home on their own but someone whose luggage has fallen open, too?

Carry that luggage.

Sweep the remains into your hands, pick it up, carry it along as you chase your moon across the endless globe. Count the days, hold on tight, for this is how you love a soul whose luggage has turned to restless nights, shaky hands and mismatched laughter.

You are going to regret it. You are going to love it. You are going to love regretting it. You are going to regret loving it; but it’s all worth a try.

A memoir, b.b

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benjaminbentley · 4 years

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The day you dare to hold me be gentle, for my edges are broken glass ready to jab at every approaching caress, at every gentle touch, at every sweet gesture that mean so well.

The day you are to kiss me hold your breath, for within there is a void so deep and so cold that my heart will collapse on itself at the faintest chance of air of love of you.

The day you dare to love me, remind me to apologize for all the damage I will do.

b.b

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benjaminbentley · 4 years

Text

Suffocating, I find myself reaching for stars that flicker at the sight of my outstretched fingers desperately looking for signs as to whether there will ever be a rising sun.

b.b

12 notes · View notes

benjaminbentley · 4 years

Text

Suffocating, I find myself reaching for stars that flicker at the sight of my outstretched fingers desperately looking for signs as to whether there will ever be a rising sun.

b.b

12 notes · View notes

benjaminbentley · 4 years

Text

you look at him and suddenly every breath of morning makes sense; every star is an undying wish every golden ray of sun a blessing all similar to the things he does to you your heart your soul your being.

you look at him and suddenly you remember what it feels like to be alive.

he , the morning / b.b

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benjaminbentley · 4 years

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You are so important to me, the way you smile and how it stretches across the room, sinks into my skin and bring out the same energy that you offer in a smudged reflection only you see.

You are so important to me, the way you laugh in early morning hours still untainted by the sweet scent of caffeine that spreads as we talk for hours that suddenly come to feel like minutes.

You are so important to me, the way we fit, sky and clouds, sun and flower, wind and sea; good in our great, great in our bad, a match made in chance.

- b.b

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