might fuck around and drink the daily recommended amount of water
“I will fashion an art of loving you. // How much of poetry is bodies?”
— Julie Mannell, from “Phone Sex with a One Time Lover on the West Coast,” published in CBC Books
“My mouth, without the other’s: useless. I long to fill it like a grave.”
— Leila Chatti, “Ramadan Lament,” published in the Los Angeles Review (via bostonpoetryslam)
“The thing is, if I‘d found a way, I would have given you the sun. I would have counted the stars in the sky and I would have pulled them down for you. I would have climbed mountains and crossed oceans, I would have run miles and every time I would have given it everything I had. But you were blind to my efforts. You were blind to them all. You never cared much for displays of affection and you never valued my attempts to meet you halfway. It’s a shame that in the end even the sun wouldn’t have been enough for you.”
— I would give you the sun / n.j.
“We dream in colors so vivid, bright hues shade our thoughts. Vibrant tones seep into our voices and my words seem to be tinged blue.”
— “Sad” remnant-thoughts
You would have been 13 today. Lucky number 13, and I would have celebrated you. I would have told you how much I love you, told you in perfect detail how you found me, how you chose me, how you saved this life of mine, how you soothed. I would have told you of our adventures, of the times you scared me half to death, of the times I held onto you, when you were scared the same. I would put my hands on your head, the soft pieces behind your ears, that calmed you through the storms, and told you of my appreciation. Mostly, I would have told you of my love. How you taught me in a way no one else could, how to give all I am away, and expect nothing in return. I would tell you how much I would miss you when you left, though I know now how far from accurate I would be. I miss you constantly, ranging from a simmer on the back burner of my days, to a bonfire that consumes each thought like dried forest stacked into piles. I miss you, every day, but on your birthday the most. Happy Birthday my Hobbes, thank you for the years you gave me, I know you have been returned, know that I am seeking you out once more. Know that I will find you.
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Triskaidekaphilia, love of the number 13. This will be the word of my year. Happy 13th Birthday, and I miss you Hobbes, but please know, I love you more than that.
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