Sorry for being MIA lately, I’m really busy trying to find a job and write a book :) Wish me luck, and please don’t unfollow me so when I get back on here I won’t have lost you all <3 col
If I believed in souls, I would think we had one split in two.
If I believed we had another sense within our selves, spiritual ghost of white dust on the windowpane, resting here (I am pointing to my heart), I would think we had been pulled to one another, guided to un-tear the torn pieces.
If I believed in souls, I’d never fault whoever broke our core in two, snapped it clean and threw it off haphazard and directionless.
Because really, this adventurous search for you has been unparalleled.
There is nothing like this meeting of lost parts in all the world, I’m convinced, and I would be thankful, so full with thanks to the someone, or the no-one, that saddled us with this burden sublime.
But souls, oh souls, the concept is so lofty and like an excuse we craft, imagine, crave.
The soul—of course!—that must be the reason, we say, why we have fallen into one another complete. Fallen mind, body, and…
Oh, but I don’t believe in souls. I never have, and how dare you make me question this!
How dare you show me simple how beyond the body another person can take us.
Stubborn, I am stubborn, but so calmed by your brazen belief in this thing called “soul,” and that yours was made for mine of all the infinite rest.
thank you lovely stranger :)
He became too aware of his own breathing. See, it’s one of those processes that if you notice it or think on it too much it freezes.
Like when you get stuck on a word and suddenly it becomes foreign and loses all meaning—it was like that. Unknowingly, he picked up on the actuality of this bodily function and its importance, the feel of air going in and out of his mouth, over his tongue, down his throat, the way his chest rose and fell of its own accord.
Then his body, feeling itself caught out and under scrutiny, stopped. For a short time he was inexplicably paused in both the physical sense and the mental. He had outthought himself and stunned both his breathing and his mind, for without breath his brain gagged for air, for fuel.
He was suspended.
Then, fleetingly, he managed a thought—or more like a feeling—of reluctance.
he is my foremost inspiration, and i’ve read this interview hundreds of times and it still gives me chills. how can i be so in love with this man and his talent? it’s pretty ridiculous. i even got a tattoo of his words on my skin. i’m in love with a dead writer and his writings, oh what else is new.
He took to the air like bird on wing in thunderous wind at the start of the storm.
He did all this without moving from the hammock, without stepping off the porch.
He was always wondrous to me in that way.
I saw it all so clearly though he did not move.
I knew it, knew it true that he was stationary, but off he soared picked up with the zephyr, and I stood watching him unaware I too was standing still, and maybe to another’s eyes I too flew.
girl, I know I won’ reach your
peak, but die tryin’.
Soul-love, heart’s been broke
so long, no whiskey-smoke can
save it from the rot.
Postcard boy, I can’t
love you, the envy is too
strong. You’ve been elsewhere…