Sometimes you’re 23 and standing in the kitchen of your house making breakfast and brewing coffee and listening to music that for some reason is really getting to your heart. You’re just standing there thinking about going to work and picking up your dry cleaning. And also more exciting things like books you’re reading and trips you plan on taking and relationships that are springing into existence. Or fading from your memory, which is far less exciting. And suddenly you just don’t feel at home in your skin or in your house and you just want home but “Mom’s” probably wouldn’t feel like home anymore either. There used to be the comfort of a number in your phone and ears that listened everyday and arms that were never for anyone else, but just to calm you down when you started feeling trapped in a five-minute period where nostalgia is too much and thoughts of this person you are feel foreign. When you realize that you’ll never be this young again but this is the first time you’ve ever been this old. When you can’t remember how you got from sixteen to here and all the same feel like sixteen is just as much of a stranger to you now. The song is over. The coffee’s done. You’re going to breathe in and out. You’re going to be fine in about five minutes.
― The Winter of the Air  (via fuckinq)

(Source: kalynroseanne)

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captured lights.

i see the lights fill the sky, illuminating the black. now painted is a picture in  which i’ve captured in my mind to sing me to sleep whilst you’re away. my arms are lonely and so i envision the lights upon my arms, lighting my skin with the same lights that look upon you; now i am warm through the vision of the light that stares upon us both, painted on my arms. 

(Source: casuarius)

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knotted roots.

i role these thoughts around my tongue and sink my teeth into their flesh before their roots have time to leech onto words that would flow from my mouth. such thoughts deserve cremation, or a burial at least - never to breathe the outside air, for their exhalation would surely singe the surrounding ears and minds. i sink my teeth slowly, tortuously into their exposing roots, feeling the burning liquid begin to ooze down my constricting throat which swallows the thoughts whole. so now my stomach fights with the roots which are furrowing into the lining walls, creating knots that remind my mouth to remain closed. 

(Source: casuarius)

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