Happy New Year!

(could Joseph be any more perfect)?

Amicalola.

I've forgotten how sweet long drives through the country can be.

love is a waiting game
come on and run my way.

(via Vogue).

conversations turn odd after two am

on the day after christmas

with rain splashing the windows and thundering each tree

we huddled in the bathroom

too frightened to be alone

again

nervous in the front seat of what could be in the back
kettering and so

afraid of our own ghosts.

3 AM

(by Sally Mann).

Merry Christmas from Atlanta, friends!

(via Rookie).

Fever.

the worst part of it all will
come fifteen minutes later
after the door has closed
and the nose has blown
and the cage has locked

and

it will find you
bleary and sober
pinching tears from the corner of
the right eye

where

it will quietly
moan like a scared kettle
right before it shrieks

and you will know that all
the collateral collapsing damaging
is you

and you will know
that the remaining weight
of all the words is the
velvet knowledge that you'll try to forget:

in every scenario
and here too,
it is your fault.

worse-
you'll never
take the blame.

Your girl is lovely, Hubbell.

Duffy.

(via Jewel of the South).

We know the sound of two hands clapping.
But what is the sound of one hand clapping?


A Zen Koan

(via Rookie).

Home.

and everything is exactly the same but feels so foreign.

Cafe Lalo.

Post-Finals celebratory tea time.

Oh, Saturday.

Thanks, Jewel of the South.

And everything, I mean every single thing, is going to go how it should.
I believe that with my whole heart.
Everything happens for a reason.
And it is going to be okay.
We will wake up tomorrow and we will start over.
And it may suck-that happens some days.
Maybe we don’t even start over, maybe we just keep going.
It’s supposed to though-it’s supposed to suck sometimes.
You’re supposed to hurt on certain days.
I am meant to feel on top on the world one week and then cry in my bed the next.
I am going to make a bad grade on that test because I deserved it.

We don’t feel like smiling tonight-we will later.
The weekend will come-your break will too.
I will look forward to coffee in the morning because I love to.

And you and I, and us, we all are going to be exactly as we should.

Fly Away Home.

(via phosophenes).

Previn.

they said of you, often

that you were a case of untapped potential

a one day smash

a soon enough success

and so, they

read you Machiavelli and built for you a glass

house with a wide gate and a middling view.

they said of me, often

that I was a case of unnoticed dreaming

a glad wanderer

a forever child

and so, they

read me E.B. White and built for me a canvas

house with a breezy arch and a crying door.

chain smoking the night away...

Holiday Blues.

(via Jewel of the South).

Symphony No. 10

I finger seeds and think only of your pores

and a blade of grass on the back seat of a cab

becomes the one whisker
that you've missed shaving at two p.m. 

this afternoon.

(I want to tell you that) you smell like my grandfather

and that, while swallowing smiles in the back row of Avery Fischer
I wondered if all these harmonics and all of you
was simply maya,
illusion.

Later
towards the apartment door
with key in lock and eye by tree
I bit my tongue for esprit de l'escalier,
things I've lost the chance to say.

Petit.

running myself into the ground.