My Reflection Of Life

I love incorrectly

There is a solemnity in hands,
the way a palm will curve in
accordance to a contour of skin,
the way it will release a story.

This should be the pilgrimage.
The touching of a source.
This is what sanctifies.

This pleading. This mercy.
I want to be a pilgrim to everyone,
close to the inaccuracies, the astringent
dislikes, the wayward peace, the private
words. I want to be close to the telling.
I want to feel everyone whisper.

After the blossoming I hang.
The encyclical that has come
through the branches
instructs us to root, to become
the design encapsulated within.

Flesh helping stone turn tree.

I do not want to hold life
at my extremities, see it prepare
itself for my own perpetuation.
I want to touch and be touched
by things similar in this world.

I want to know a few secular days
of perfection. Late in this one great season
the diffused morning light
hides the horizon of sea. Everything
the color of slate, a soft tablet
to press a philosophy to.

—“The Confession of an Apricot,” Carl Adamshick (via commovente)

What are you afraid of?

You are so beautiful, so cute, so lucky to be alive.

Eighteen is too young to be so sad.

You don’t care about anyone as much as they will care about you.

Cheer up, my friend.

Relax.

Take a breath.

You are so many things.

Would you care if I died?

If I never came home?

I could have left, too.

I’m scared.

You look more like your mother every day.

I want you to fuck me. I want you to cum for me.

Please.

I’d really like to kiss you right now.

But this is all just misplaced energy.

I can’t smoke a cigarette with you.

Tell me if you stop loving me.

You are not allowed to love.

Stop thinking so much.

Relax.

Stop.

Stop caring so much about things that don’t matter.

Words are not a career.

Write the truth, but don’t write your truth.

How can one person be so destructive and so beautiful.

How come you don’t believe in Home?

I want everything inside of you.

I want you to give me your world.

Sleep.

No one will love you the way he loves you.

No one wants to watch you burn.

You selfish bitch.

The world will never remember you.

No matter how much you scream.

No matter how much you curse.

Fuck you.

If getting over me is too hard you can always fuck the pain away.

You are the biggest liar that I have ever met.

Thank you for telling me the truth.

I bought your book just to burn it.

I know you were hurt.

Why don’t you cry?

It’s going to be okay.

This is all just misplaced

energy.

—“things people have said without thinking i’d remember,” Shinji Moon  (via commovente)

(via conor-broberst)

Please don’t hurry to fall in love or fall into anything. There’s plenty of time for all of that. Until then, do more than exist. Remind yourself on every occasion that you are still so young and that is a beautiful wonderful thing. Before you know it cynicism will come on wings and you will have to reshape yourself over and over. Don’t wish for emotions. Long for experiences, and hands that feel good in yours, and the cold bite of winter, darling you’ve got such a long while. You’re not inadequate because you’re alone (not lonely, mind the difference), you’re not unattractive or boring or God forbid unlovable. Breathe a little bit easier. Write yourself lists. Your hipbones right now, the places where you long to be touched, are too fragile for lust. You’ll find yourself crushed under the weight of it all.

—lam·bent:   (via 5000letters)

(via 5000letters)