On Hedge Row

The wind was rusty tonight as I walked behind you both.

I loved the way you talked

of planting tulip bulbs in the fall,

and the garden that would have to wait ten more years.

For a moment, in the bluster of that Georgia wind

I wondered if this is what I would one day want

or if I wanted it already:

Ten more years

and tulips every fall.

Rabbit

(via Style Rookie).

I was wearing white

Sitting with you on the front porch steps.

I thought life could never be more perfect.

Drinking spring water out of a mason jar

Lazying about, tying flowers into your brown hair.

We Never Change, Do We?

(via Try a Fashion Blog).

Clean Sheets

"No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear. I am not afraid, but the sensation is like being afraid. The same fluttering in the stomach, the same restlessness, the yawning. I keep on swallowing."

Lewis called it grief. He called it fear too. "The fluttering in the stomach, the restlessness, the yawning." Some would call it love.

I feel this way with you.

Not isolated fear,

Not lonely grief,

Not even the singular beauty of love.

All three.

All at once.

This is the common experience.

Our grief and love and fear,

all together in the dry mouth of humanity.

A Song

Premonitions

(Natalie. via Try a Fashion Blog).

Every night I shake awake with the same fear:

Soon you will realize that I am not nearly as interesting as you supposed.

Every morning I flutter up with the same warning to whisper:

"You won't love me for long."

A Conversation

"I guess he is just this morbid curiosity for me" she said casually to her companion as she tilted her head to concentrate on flossing with a long piece of blonde hair plucked absently from her own head.

The two stood haphazardly in front of oblong mirrors in the bathroom. Hair pins and bits of paper cluttered the fuzzy floor beneath their schoolgirl shoes.

"A morbid desire that you let die every year and then subsequently dig back up each Spring?"

"I know, I know. God, I fucking know. Its awful, I hate myself for it. But that's just it. I let it die every year. This year, I want to kill it. I want to slaughter this thing. But only after I've figured out how to keep it alive."

"Listen, you know this is a bad idea. And I know that right now, you are acting tough. But you fall for this every year. And every year you ascribe it to curiosity. And every year you get hurt. Again and again and again."

"That's the point."