making something out of nothing
isn’t spring the perfect time to dust yourself off and cry out affirmations to the heavens of how you’ll bloom and be better than yesterday? and just stop for a moment, breath in the air , look up at the sky and see the birds cutting across the clouds and the cherry blossoms swaying in the breeze and know that absolutely everything is possible.
when i close my eyes these words are burned into my lids over and over and over.
i carry your heart with me
i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you
here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart
i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)
ee cummings
from the mouth of a girl like me to a boy
“He knew that “I love you” also means “I love you more than anyone else loves you, or has loved you, or will love you,” and also “I love you in a way that way that I love no one else, and never have loved anyone else, and never will love anyone else.” He knew that it is, by love’s definition, impossible to love two people.” – Everything is Illuminated by Johnathan Safran Foer
“What then kills love? Only this: neglect. Not to see you when you stand before me. Not to think of you in the little things. Not to make the road wide for you, the table spread for you. To choose you out of habit not desire, to pass the flower seller without a thought. To leave the dishes unwashed, the bed unmade, to ignore you in the morning, make use of you at night. To crave another while pecking your cheek. To say your name without hearing it, to assume it is mine to call.” – from Written on the Body by Jeanette Winterson
