howhaveilovedthee

[howhaveilovedthee]

When the boy freezes me out, I do not beg for him, do not call him back, and I put down the phone. I tie up my shoes, purchase a plane ticket, and I fly to Greece. I sob the whole flight. When the plane nears a deserted island, I do not wait for the plane to land, do not think of the pressure, and I jump. I land in the water, swim to shore, and I collapse onto the beach. My tears dry with the saltwater. When I explore the island, I do not find anyone else, do not wish I did, and I take up residence in a cave. I see sheep scattered in the valley, fall in love with them, and I become their shepherd. I am too dehydrated to cry. When the next June rolls around, I do not long for home, do not think of him, and I simply tend my sheep I live in peace, dance in the fields, and settle down in my cave home each night. I have not wept in months. When I begin to feel the Sadness returning, I do not wonder if he misses me, do not remember his name, and I write. I cover my cave in rock-chalk poetry, write about my old life, and become my own audience. My eyes do not even grow damp. When my old life begins to fade away, I do not try to remember it, do not cling to wisps, and the poems become dreamy I write about sunlight, the cool grass on a hot day, and I sing about my loneliness. I forget the word for crying. When I dream, I do not dream about the sheep, do not think of the ocean, and I do not see the plane. I see things that look like me, with hands like mine, and I remember neither. My eyes burn strangely. When I wake up, I do not recall the faces, do not recall  their name, and I forget that they are like me. I know only that it is me and my sheep, my cave, and I see the ocean in every direction. There is water on my cheeks.

#poem #love poem #crying #moving on #forgetting #break up #love #heartbreak

[howhaveilovedthee]

And some day, in eighty years, when you’re a hundred and I’m a hundred and thirty-four, and we’re both so kind and loving we’re nearly unbearable, drop me a line, let me know how your life has been. I hope you will say: it has been so wonderful

George Saunders  (via jane-of-the-earth)

[howhaveilovedthee]

25 ways I have tried to say “I love you” 1. This is a poem I might let you read one day. 2. When you call me i almost wish you didn’t But i get in the car anyway Ride to the nearest parking lot And sit with you all night By streetlight you belong to me Bathed in shadows, flecked with light I could write a novel about the way you unbuckle your seatbelt 3. I am getting in and i am wrapped in a blanket and you do not mention it to me at all You drive to a place that’s like home to you 4. There are constellation on your cheeks I could draw the freckles on the right side of your face by memory 5. I cannot forget the night we lie in our parking lot under the stars And we are whispering to each other And our knuckles are grazing but it isn’t on purpose And the stories you tell are softer with every passing moment At the end of the night we hit a deer, and we laugh, and you apologize, and we drive home wiping tears out of our eyes 6. I am doing it and you are not shy and you are gazing. 7. You are sweet like a secret - Not many get the gift of knowing But when they do, it is the gift that keeps on giving The secret and the blossoms are the same - It takes a bit of pressure to draw the sweetness out Like the blossoms must be squeezed Like a secret must be begged for You are your best and truest only after a bit of pressing 8. We are speaking truths we daren’t offer to anyone else 9. I wish I could turn and smile at you in the dark And say “Keep your eyes on the road, for once” And you’d hear “Don’t stop looking at me / I love when you look at me” 10. How many nights do we spend like this Side by side Not touching not asking not saying But doing everything else 11. You say, “speak your truth” You mean “Please don’t” I say, “I’m thinking” I mean “I can’t” And so we go on in this kaleidoscope language Every word a refraction Every pause a vibrant burst of color Where does it end, this dream we won’t say out loud? 12. This is a poem about loving you. 13. A dream come to life demands a certain handling - Looking at it just makes you want to reach out and hold fragile blossoms in careful palms 14. We are flying somewhere through Texas And the sky is blue and the sun is shining and it is you and i and the interstate For the next 7 hours 15. You are indoctrinating us into the language of hope If the tree is the product of romantic dreams, I’m certain you’re the same 16. You come and you call You always call You keep the car running, you always play my favorite song when I get in And you always call when you pull up 17. You are such an anchor for our wandering spirits The stillness we dreamt of coming home to 18. I wrote you this poem but i wish I didn’t 19. Another night you are picking me up and it is me and my blanket and my sadness And you choose a horror movie and we sit in your car and watch it with the surround sound all the way up And afterward you read me love poems and i listen and make fun of you We force ourselves to say nice things about the other and sigh and dream into each other’s mouths 20. You are old in your spirit In the way it seems that you’ve done this all before And are none too pleased to be doing it all again Old in the way your soul seems too big for your body sometimes And is forced to pour out into notebooks and playlists and your quiet, steady gaze 21. And we are pulling into a parking lot and we are eating And we spend six hours asking each other what the other is thinking And we answer honestly And tonight we do not hide When you drop me off you look in my eyes and you say you’d do it all over again 22. You never were so great at timing. 23. We end up in another parking lot Empty and warm and bathed in sunshine And on this day we let the sun burn our noses and we laugh until we are breathless I burn into my mind The way you look here in the sun on the pavement beside me 24. I wrote you a poem in Austin at 2am As someone else drove and i sat shotgun Listening to a playlist you made Dreaming you into a metaphor 25. This poem is a scrapbook of the ways I break my own heart.

excerpts from all the poems I have tried to write about us 

#poetry #love #night #parkinglot #unrequited #austin #car #passenger #parking lot #poem

[howhaveilovedthee]

when lana del rey said “hold me, love me, touch me, honey, be the first who ever did” and jane austen said “if I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more” and mitski said “I love everybody because I love you” and dorothy parker said “I know I have been happiest at your side; but what is done, is done, and all’s to be” and sarah ruhl said “‘how will you remember?’ ‘that I love you?’ ‘yes.’ ‘that’s easy. I can’t help it.’” and when william goldman said “there’s no room in my body for anything but you” and joanna newsom said “I love you truly, or I love no-one” and when margaret atwood said “I exist in two places, here and where you are”

[howhaveilovedthee]

“In an older time, we’d have written letters, waited for weeks for handwriting, but our love is kept alive by electricity now. Our love in the shaky hands of the wi-fi.”

— Talia Young, “While My Love Sleeps I Cook Dinner”

[howhaveilovedthee]

I am full of poetry now. Rot and poetry. Rotten poetry. 

- Ernest Hemingway, The Snows of Kilimanjaro

(not my pictures)

[howhaveilovedthee]

More of my custom stationary I forgot to share!

[howhaveilovedthee]

“You need to know to run from dogs, jump to the hood of a car, carry pepper spray. Don’t play in the front yard. Don’t sit on the front porch do not talk to strangers.”

— Porsha Olayiwola, from i shimmer sometimes, too

[howhaveilovedthee]

a master-list of dark academia posts

Dark Academia Moodboards

sometimes we all need to stay up all night, listening to classical music, discussing art and poetry, drinking red wine, while looking at the moon

took Dorian Grey to work with me today 

Study Motivations

The Picture of Dorian Grey

The Secret History characters

General Dark Academia

Dark Academia in various medias masterpost

Favourite love letters

Seeking employment

Perfume associations

Thoughts on writing

do you ever

The Dead Poets Society

Pacific Rim

Donna Tartt

Unintentional talent

i have the urge

adventure-core

reblog if

Guide To Dark Academia

three steps how to become mysterious and weird

become who you’ve dreamed of being

Why people are fond of Dark Academia

Dark Academia Lifestyle

How To Get Your Life Back Together

Dark Academia ask game

On limiting yourself to a single aesthetic

Cute date ideas

Getting into dark academia

Finding Yourself

Dark Notes

Little things to do

How to explore castles

Little ways

Improve yourself through DA

The Problem With DA

Aesthetic Text Posts

i want it to be fall again

Agatha Christie quotes

Work-class academic

i wanna be an anthropologist

Raw Florence & The Machine Quotes

i love wax seals

do we ever get the urge to

If We Were Villains

Date a boy who…

strange discoveries

future me

i deeply desire

the witch trials aren’t a gimmick

i’m sick of not having

keen on rural gothic

An excerpt

i want to write…

I’ve decided to practice witchcraft

hell hath no fury

dreaming about dark academia

regarding Frankenstein

i wish there was a checklist

excerpt

Philip Lombard

menswear

book club

ghostcore

poetry

something to think about

in the mood to be

does anyone feel like

Types Of…

types of academics

The Secret History characters

catholic art

Seasons Girls

decades

types of people as planets

as seasons

Music

Literary playlists

Dark Academia songs

Aesthetics/People as Queen albums

literature playlists

Great DA Blogs

@polymathwrath

@x-carpe-o-noctem-x

@sanguineoath

@thoughtcriminals

@thehistory

@sunkengardens-drowningbooks

[howhaveilovedthee]

when kafka said "all the love in the world is useless when there is total lack of understanding" and when richard siken said “if you love me, you don’t love me in a way I understand.”

[howhaveilovedthee]

“Poseidon was easier than most. He calls himself a god, but he fell beneath my fingers with more shaking than any mortal. He wept when my robe fell from my shoulders. I made him bend his back for me, listened to his screams break like waves. We defiled that temple the way it should be defiled, screaming and bucking our way from corner to corner. The bitch goddess probably got a real kick out of that. I’m sure I’ll be hearing from her. She’ll give me nightmares for a week or so; that I can handle. Or she’ll turn the water in my well into blood; I’ll scream when I see it, and that will be that. Maybe my first child will be born with the head of a fish. I’m not even sure it was worth it, Poseidon pounding away at me, a madman, losing his immortal mind because of the way my copper skin swells in moonlight. Now my arms smoke and itch. Hard scales cover my wrists like armour. C’mon Athena, he was only another lay, and not a particularly good one at that, even though he can spit steam from his fingers. Won’t touch him again. Promise. And we didn’t mean to drop to our knees in your temple, but our bodies were so hot and misaligned. It’s not every day a gal gets to sample a god, you know that. Why are you being so rough on me? I feel my eyes twisting, the lids crusting over and boiling, the pupils glowing red with heat. Athena, woman to woman, could you have resisted him? Would you have been able to wait for the proper place, the right moment, to jump those immortal bones? Now my feet are tangled with hair, my ears are gone. My back is curving and my lips have grown numb. My garden boy just shattered at my feet. Dammit, Athena, take away my father’s gold. Send me away to live with lepers. Give me a pimple or two. But my face. To have men never again be able to gaze at my face, growing stupid in anticipation of that first touch, how can any woman live like that? How will I be able to watch their warm bodies turn to rock when their only sin was desiring me? All they want is to see me sweat. They only want to touch my face and run their fingers through my … my hair is it moving?”

— Medusa by Patricia Smith, from Big Towns, Big Talk (1992)

[howhaveilovedthee]

“i. EROS — is a lover with a burning passion that outshines and burns all others with a fiery flame that in return burns them. It is a fire with raw intensity that could melt pure steel and harden the softest of hearts into the purest of diamonds. Eros is not always that of a true lover, rather sometimes that of an obsessor. ii. LUDUS — is a lover like that of milk and honey and innocence. Its whispers fainter than flower petals against soft skin. It is a soulmate that burns brighter than the sun whose heart is purer than the whitest of sands. Though Ludus’ love is not raw and passionate and burning. It is a love built on secrecy and promises and trust and toothy grins and nostalgic scents. iii. PHILIA — is a lover built on blood and dirt and gritted teeth. Philia is the iron in the blood and plasma from which the deepest stars in the galaxy are made of. They are passionate and forgiving and most of all undeniably understanding. A lover that is not easily found, nor a lover that is easily forgotten. iv. PRAGMA — is a lover that understands with a maturity like no other. Pragma knows nothing of revenge or deep rooted hatred. It isn’t a first kiss or childish crushes. Pragma is a lover with selfless desires and a heart full of gold and warmth and an understanding touch. The bands between two hearts and the long journey to the stars. A lover who is everlasting even when their other half is no longer apart of them. v. AGAPE — is a lover whose heart fell for strangers on empty buses and midnight train station platforms. The color yellow. A lover of naivety and hope and carefree. One who could only see others as if they were as pure as snow. A lover built of fairy tales and stardust. One who extends galaxies to the ones they love, for nothing in return. vi. PHILAUTIA — is a lover of themselves. A lover often mistaken for vanity and selfishness. A lover who need not be desired, to appreciate their self-worth. Though they often are desired by many. Philautia is one who only needs the love they give off. They are a lover made of silver stones and a heart guarded by rusted chains.”

— Six Kinds of Lovers by Nicole Moon

[howhaveilovedthee]

“It’s the little things that I find myself getting the most excited about. Like the other day, when we were talking about finally living in the same place next year, and you said “Soon we’ll be in our bed.” I couldn’t stop thinking about those two words and how they fit together so perfectly in my head. “Our bed.” I can’t wait to share things with you. To wake up in the morning and roll over to see your face. To make shitty instant coffee and drink it in bleary silence because neither of us is a morning person. To go to work, and come home with takeaway boxes of food that we’ll eat on the couch while binge watching The Office, crying during the best Jim and Pam scenes (aka, all of them). And I can’t wait to go to sleep together every night. To listen to your snoring and stare up at the twinkle lights you can’t fall asleep without, the ones we’ll hang above our bed.”

—

[howhaveilovedthee]

“It’s raining and the incense is leaving ash on the dresser. These days aren’t complicated. We kiss goodbye for a few hours while he writes code in the city and I write poems in the bedroom. We finally moved somewhere green; anytime we open the door or crack a window we can smell the ferns smiling from across the street, the pine trees sleeping in the early morning light. And we were happy before, and we are happy now. The only difference is the distance from our front door to the forest; from the green beds of moss to our two wood-burning hearts.”

— Schuyler Peck, North (via schuylerpeck)

[howhaveilovedthee]

“I’m sorry for all the things I never did. All I never said, all the things you never heard. I wished I told you, that you made me happy, that you made me a better person, that I would love you till the day I die. I would have meant every word.”

— how long have you held onto those words hoping she’d come back | letters of a lost love.//t.c

[howhaveilovedthee]

Consider this: we fuck with the lights on. You trace the flat shape of my breasts when I lay down. We keep the windows open because the rain smells like the closest we’ve ever been to Heaven. We watch the ferns drip like they’re heavy with honey. I cut red peppers in the kitchen. You put on every song we’ve ever fallen in love to. I’m beginning to lose the difference between our skin. I’m cold when you’re shivering. I ache when you’re lonely. I can feel the warmth in your pink, fluttering heart, and I hold it in my hands.

Schuyler Peck, On A Long Weekend (via schuylerpeck)

[howhaveilovedthee]

#i'm broken #this is so sad wow