delusions of the heart.
theme
"Though I cannot seem
to sleep through the night, with you
I can even nap."
– Daily haiku: Relief from insomnia.
"They have a long life, dreams. I have dreams now which I had as a young girl. They have an odd durability for something not quite real."
All the Pretty Horses, by Cormac McCarthy
"Last night I dreamed that
your arms cradled my body
and I woke crying."
– Daily haiku: Not much longer for us now.
"No one truly laughs
like bells or loves like wildfire,
unlike in stories."
– Daily haiku: Time to give up those fairytales.
"If the devil is
in the details, then why do
people care so much?"
– Daily haiku: In order to avoid sin.
"Writers don’t write from experience, though many are resistant to admit that they don’t. I want to be clear about this. If you wrote from experience, you’d get maybe one book, maybe three poems. Writers write from empathy."
– Nikki Giovanni

(Source: amandaonwriting, via hasser)

falling in love under the sea.

I thought 
you were teaching me 
how to hold my breath 
underwater,
but instead 
you taught me 
how to drown.

"Oh, mommy dearest,
she cried, I know I don’t say
it, but I love you."
– Daily haiku: Happy mother’s day.
"Don’t you worry, love,
there is still some beauty left
in the world for you."
– Daily haiku: They have not stolen it all.

(Source: allusio-n, via theazuresea)

where has the love gone?

“I want to make soufflés,” she said impulsively one night as they laid in bed, quiet sheets separating them, undisturbed.

And the next day he went out and dutifully bought everything she would need to bake the most delightful soufflés — delicate little white ramekins and dark chocolate and vanilla and eggs. He found the most highly praised recipe and presented it to her and when she just laughed and rolled her eyes and said, “Darling, it’s too much,” he went on and baked the soufflés anyways, following the recipe with the utmost precision. He made a mess in the kitchen baking these precious soufflés for her, and when he was done, he carefully cleaned it all back up to unveil nothing short of the perfect scene. 

He told her that he had a surprise for her and covered her eyes, leading her to the kitchen as she squealed, “Oh, what is it? Oh, please, please just tell me already. You know I can’t stand surprises.”

And he sat her down at the table in front of the beautiful soufflé he’d crafted so perfectly, and he handed her a delicate little dessert fork to taste his creation. She laughed and tasted the soufflé like he’d wanted, and suddenly the cheery expression fell from her face and her cheeks turned quite pale. 

“What’s wrong?” he asked frantically, distraught by her sudden pallor. “What’s happened?”

He took the fork from her and tried a bite of the beautiful soufflé and gasped in horror when he found that the puffy chocolate taste turned to charcoal on his tongue. She sighed and put a hand gently over his, her eyes sad again as they had been quite a lot recently. 

“Oh, love,” she murmured. “It’s because you didn’t put your heart in it, don’t you see?”

She stood and left to go to sleep, for lack of anything better to do, and the next morning, she woke up to find him in that same spot, his heart carved out and placed in one of those delicate little white ramekins just for her, a hole in his chest where his heart was supposed to be.

"You are flowers in my stomach.
 Cutting me open nightly, blooming through the cracks of the ribs. 
I only want to be the sun for you."
– Elke River

(Source: larmoyante, via j-moriarty)

Posted 1 week ago
"I can’t write without
the sadness growing inside
my ribcage today."
– Daily haiku: This is the writer’s true curse.
"And if you fall down
I will always be here to
pick you up again."
– Daily haiku: This is what lovers do.