@the2headedcalf / On Love, Alain De Botton /  @tilthat / Céline Sciamma / Twitter: Nightshiftmp3 /

“Hey,” he said, half-asleep, “what were you before you met me?”

“I think I was drowning.” A pause.

“And what are you now?” he whispered, sinking.

I thought for a second. “Water.”

maybe the rain is there to teach us that falling is beautiful. some people are a map when you didn’t realize you were lost. you’re the ache that never left, the first line of an unfinished song. it doesn’t have to be a poem to be poetry.. have you seen how carefully the light can touch your face? and even though I’m an abandoned house in search of a ghost, I don’t need anything from you. I want everything with you.

you're not hard to love. you were only made to feel that way by someone who didn't know how.

❤

Achilles, come down (slowed)

Achilles, Achilles, Achilles, come down Won’t you get up off, get up off the roof? You’re scaring us and all of us, some of us love you Achilles, it’s not much but there’s proof You crazy-assed cosmonaut, remember your virtue Redemption lies plainly in truth Just humour us, Achilles, Achilles, come down Won’t you get up off, get up off the roof

“Literature is a luxury; fiction is a necessity.”

—

G.K. Chesterton

“You can’t read that book in a day”

HANDS.

Why did we collectively agree

that love is stored in our hearts?

Why did no one stand up to argue

that love is within the other person's hands?

Trust me not?

Palm on your forehead late at night,

Checking your temperature.

A reassuring hand on your knee

When you're shaking with anxiety.

A grip around your wrists

While crossing the road.

Calloused fingers suddenly soft

While brushing tears off your cheeks.

Protective arm around your shoulders

when all you want is to lean.

Brush of fingers while passing a dish

Over the dinner table.

I'll cease to exist

When my heart stops beating

But I'll give you that letter with scrawly writings

Only when you pry it from my cold, dead hands.

For a second or two

Sometimes I fall in love with strangers,

For a second or two or some more.

Not for the thrill or dangers,

For the kindness, simplicity, and whatnots.

That someone on a park bench

Petting a random dog,

And then someone by the swing

Helping a kid back to her feet.

That someone at the next table

Smiling genuinely at the waiter,

And then someone at the handwash

Holding the door for an old woman.

I fall in love with strangers,

A second for how they look,

Two for their generous smile,

And some more for the random act of kindness.

The universe conspires you around such strangers

At that particular point in time out of all.

Because kindness conjures love.

Even if it's from a stranger.

A stranger,

Who will stop what they're doing

To fall in love with you.

For a second or two or some more.

My Storyteller 💜

His hair is grey

And vision is blurred

His spends his day

In bed, one-third.

He taught me to read,

And told me to lead.

He taught me to write,

And told me to fight.

Evening's he spent

Saying his prayer.

He hates to depend

Loves his arm chair.

Night's he spent

Telling us tales

About the places he went

With all the details.

A child's first teacher

Is it's mother

But my first teacher

Is my grandfather.

His hair is grey

And vision is blurred

His smile never fades

He's my world.

(04.12.20)